


The Prince of Ice

by SparklelyWonderful



Series: Rowan's POV: Heir of Fire [1]
Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Multi, Rowan - Freeform, Rowan POV, rowaelin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2018-11-12 15:44:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 39,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11164989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparklelyWonderful/pseuds/SparklelyWonderful
Summary: Quick Summary: Heir of Fire from Rowan's POV.A/N: When I started this, I thought, ooh writing HOF from Rowan’s POV would be interesting. Even though I have to forget everything I love about Rowan and go back to the male we first met, the one that was encased in ice. We know why he is encased in ice, but what we do not know is why it seems like he hates Aelin. I wrote this perspective with one line in mind “That was the first time I lost control around you.”





	1. The Princess of Vagrants

He had been watching her for the past three days. She was smart, she found her way to the slums, a place where no one would recognize the traits that marked her as a member of the royal line this city loved. That was the only compliment that he give the girl.

When Maeve had sent him to collect the heir of Terrasen, he had expected many things, but not this. On his flight here he wondered how the girl had stayed hidden from the world for the past decade, but now as he stared at the princess he understood. No one in their right mind would mistaken this drunken girl as a princess of anything. He watched as she peeled herself off the roof.

He took flight towards the girl, it was time to go. He quickly prayed to Mala that she was not a talker, he was not sure he could handle a three day journey with the girl if she relentlessly talked. He walked down the alley and watched as a vagrant was claiming ownership of a specific section section of the alley. The look on the girl's face as she realized that she was being marked as a fellow vagrant was beyond priceless. He could not help the chuckle that escaped his throat.

Gods. A chuckle. Only after a significant amount of wine and in the company of Lorcan did he chuckle. Even in those moments they were forced. He watched as she quickly changed her stance and grabbed the hilt of a dagger. He was not in the mood to chase down the girl.

No one around them move. She continued to stare at him, the fear wafting off of her told him that she was deciding the best course of action. He had a feeling that the decision would have been made seconds ago if her brain had not been addled with days of wine and flatbread.

Something about the crackling embers in her scent, the wildness of them called to him. The sooner he got the girl to Maeve the quicker he could be done with her. The quicker he could return to Gavriel and the newest campaign.

“well met, my friend,” she purred, “well met indeed.”

Who the hell was she kidding?! She gracefully walked towards him, acting as if they had known each other for some time. He was not sure what she had been doing for the past ten years, but he could tell that she could read a crowd and manipulate. Something about that pissed him off even more.

“What a lovely surprise, I thought we were to meet at the city walls.”

Well this was one way to handle the on looking crowd. She had known that there was one of two ways for this to go and she wisely selected the easiest. “Let’s go.”

He did not have to look back to know if she was following him. She was loud and her scent was poignant.

As they saddled their horses, she broke the silence, “I’ve known a few brooding warrior types in my day, but I think you might be the broodiest of them all.”

He whipped his head. Who the hell did she think she was?

“Oh, hello. I think you know who I am, so I won’t bother introducing myself. But before I’m carted off to gods-know- where, I’d like to know who you are.”

He could feel his lips thinning. He decided to take a page from her book, “You’ve gathered enough about me at this point to have learned what you need to know.”

“Fair enough. But what am I to call you?”

It was a fair enough question. Plus he was fairly certain if he did not answer her, that she would create some gods-awful nickname that would cause him to want to rip her to shreds.

“Rowan”

“Well, Rowan,” that gods forsaken tone, he wanted to beat it out of her. “Dare I ask where we’re going?”

“I’m taking you where you’ve been summoned.”

To the Queen he sworn his life to in the hopes he would meet his death.


	2. The Princess of the Little People

As they ascended the foothills of the Cambrian Mountains, he was thankful that his prayer to Mala had been answered the girl had not said a single word. Maeve hadn’t told him much about the princess, just enough for him to find her and bring her to Mistward. It had been over a century since his aunt had sent him to recover a demi-fae. Normally Vaughn or Fenrys, sometimes Gavriel were sent. They were the gentlest of the warrior’s. He was fairly certain the Maeve would have never sent Lorcan for the same reason she did not normally send him. 

His warmth died with Lyria. Even though his warmth for the world and its inhabitants died that day, something tugged at him to survive. It would have been easy to die in the numerous battles he fought in. To have given up when he was captured and tormented in head to toe iron. Something in the world kept his will to survive strong, every mission had him looking for something. 

He had stopped trying to figure out Maeve and her intentions over a century ago. What she wanted with this girl, why she had always been so interested in this spoiled little princess was beyond him. 

He knew that they would need to camp soon, he was traveling with a demi-fae in her human form, there would be no traveling through the night. He also doubted that the horses could travel without rest. He could hear a little brook not far from the road. This would be a good place to camp and rest the horses.

He dismounted and walked his mare to the brook. The girl followed him, he could have sworn that she tripped on every single stone on the path towards the brook. They stood in silence as the horses drank. When they had their fill, we walked them back to the campsite leaving the girl to her own thoughts. 

As he handed her the bread and cheese and she mumbled her thanks,  he wasn’t entirely sure if he should be thankful or concerned for the lack of conversation. Although he basked in the realm of silence, the majority did not. He was more than happy to eat their dinner in silence. Silence was easy. 

\- - - - - - -

While he rubbed down and fed the horses, something deep within him had him tossing an apple to the girl. She was too thin, probably from the weeks of surviving on just flatbread and wine. 

He walked back to the camp and started to sit down opposite of the tree Aelin had selected. 

“Are there so many threats in Wendlyn that we can’t risk a fire?”

He almost wanted to laugh at her ignorance, but simply replied, “Not from mortals.”

He closed his eyes, but before rest found him, he could sense that they were being watched. In his centuries of being fae, in his countless nights of sleeping in the woods, he had never seen one of the Little Folk.  They were legends and myths even amongst their kind. Keepers of the woods. Through myths it was told that the Little Folk that had gifted the stags to Mala. If you were ever lucky enough to see one, you were considered blessed. 

The Little Folk were not here to bless him, no he had once been blessed and failed to protect the blessing the gods had bestowed upon him. No they were staring at a golden hair girl, with a ring of fire in her eyes. 

“They still live.”

He wasn't not sure what to think of the girl, but he was certain this was not the first time that she had seen the little people. 


	3. The Princess of Promises

Their travel to Mistward had been quiet. By the third day, the quietness of the girl slightly unsettled him. He reminded himself that the girl was not his concern. He only needed to deliver her to Maeve and then meet up with Gavriel. He was not certain where the fiery girl that had stuck her tongue out at just a hawk had gone. When she had stuck her tongue out he wanted to transform right then and there. If only to see her reaction, to see something other than the cold dullness in her eyes. 

“I think I’d rather stay in the woods.”

That was the most ignorant thing she had said. Instead of correcting her ignorance, it was much easier for him to ignore her. He walked past the guards without a second thought, they had known who he was, and who was currently sitting in one of the offices within Mistward. He was sure they were all noting the human girl and the rumors would be flying about by morning. 

She silently followed him to the office. 

“Hello, Aelin Galathynius.”

He stood by the door. He held back a growl as the girl backed right into him. Too close. 

In their proximity, he could see that the  girl was barely controlling herself. He could see her hands shaking, but he was uncertain if the shaking was from fear or anger. It was almost as if the mention of her name had unleashed some monster that she needed to leash within her. Monster. That was something that he well understood. 

“Aelin Galathynius is dead.” Of all the words he had expected her to say, those were not it. It was well known that the Galathynius line had died ten years ago, many believed that the little princess of wildfire was included. He was  surprised in learning whom he was suppose to collect from Varese. 

“I suppose with a proper bath, you’ll look a good deal like your mother.”

His attention was drawn back to his aunt and that damned owl. To this day he still had no idea if the owl was a fae or a pet. Considering that it had been with Maeve in all the years he had known her, he was leaning more towards a fae. 

“Had I known who I would be meeting, I might have begged my escort for time to freshen up.”

There she is, the girl with an ember of fire that would stick her tongue out at a nameless hawk. Maeve looked at him. He had followed her orders, escort Aelin to Mistward as quickly as possible. She never said to make her presentable or to take a break a bath. And as well as he could read her, she read him. 

“I’m afraid I must bear the blame for pressing the pace, though I suppose he could have bothered to at least find you a pool to bathe in along the way.”

In his defense there was a brook that she could have swam in. 

“Prince Rowan is from my sister Mora’s bloodline. He is my nephew of sorts, and a member of my household. An extremely distant relation of yours; there is some ancient ancestry linking you.”

What he would give to see the look on her face, when she realized he was a prince. What a set of royals they were. He was not a prince in name, but a prince that held lands his uncle currently managed while he served Doranelle. He supposed in the three days of mutual silence he could have mentioned a little about himself, but he learned long ago that anonymity has its purpose.  He could have told her of the life he once remembered. The years of training and missions that shaped the cold warrior he had become. How he was buried in 200 years worth of glacial ice. The world was easier to survive without feelings. 

“You don’t say.”

“You must be wondering why I asked Prince Rowan to bring you here.”

He knew and Maeve probably knew that Aelin was biting her tongue. 

“I’ve been waiting a long, long while to meet you. And as I do not leave these lands, I could not see you. Not with my eyes, at least. They broke my laws, you know. Your parents disobeyed my commands when they eloped. The bloodlines were to volatile to be mixed, but when your mother promised to let me see you after you were born. It would seem that in the eight years after your birth, she was always too busy to uphold her vow. But now you are here and a grown woman. My eyes across the sea have brought me strange, horrible stories of you. From your scars and steel, I wonder whether they are indeed true. Like the tale I heard over a year ago, that an assassin with Ashryver eyes was spotted by the horned Lord of the North in a wagon bound for --”

“Enough. I know my own history.”

Bound for where? Maeve had known the girl lived, why not bring her here sooner? He hated himself, why was he even curious, the girl was not his concern. Never would be. He sole purpose was his next mission, to continue to look for that unknown place he yearned for. 

“I’m an assassin, yes.”

He could not help but snort, this girl, this 18 year old girl was not an assassin. 

“”And your other talents? What has become of them?”

“Like everyone else on my continent, I haven’t been able to access them.”

“Show me.”

He waited. Wondering how deep the embers ran through her blood? He would not lie to himself, he was curious, if only because his magic pulled towards the embers within her blood. 

“Your mother hid you from me for years, she and your father always had a remarkable talent for knowing when my eyes were searching for you. Such a rare gift -- the ability to summon and manipulate flame. So few exist who possess more than an ember of it; fewer still who can master its wildness. And yet your mother wanted you to stifle your power - though she knew that I only wanted you to submit to it.”

That is why she wanted the girl, to see how strong the embers were. No Maeve was not merely curious, he knew what he had sworn himself to. Maeve collected power. 

“Look at how that turned out for them.”

“And where were you ten years ago?”

He knew that anger, that loss. 

“Why not -”

He could not help the growl that left his throat. It was not as Maeve had believed, it was not in defense of the girl cutting off his queen, no he knew where this was going. In order for Aelin to enter Doranelle she would have to train. Magic had been smothered in Erilea for the past decade. Any magical knowledge the girl had would be that of an eight year old, her control would have been limited if not stifled. Who better to train the girl, then the fae that bore the complete opposite power. He barely heard the exchange between them, he was stuck here to train the girl. He was certain of one thing, he did not like the girl. There was nothing sweet, nothing caring about the girl. The mention of his name brought his attention back to the conversation at hand. 

“I wish for you to become who you were born to be. To become queen.”

At the mention of this girl being queen, something deep in him stirred … First Mala answering his prayers, then the Little Folk blessing and now Maeve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was not what many people expect from Rowan's POV. I am not trying to romanticize him. This male is broken. It was hard to write, I hate Maeve, hated her from this chapter forward. I also firmly believe that Rowan has no love for his aunt. Although he blames himself for Lyria’s death, he also hates Maeve for her disapproval of the female he loves. I wrote this with one line in mind “That was the first time I lost control around you.” Although he does not bite her for another week, cool collected Rowan, shows a great deal of anger towards Celaena. But why?


	4. The Princess of Left Hooks

He could scent the ire radiating off of her. Good. That made two of them. He knew anger and he knew how to wield it, he had trained countless fae using that anger. The quicker he could train her, the quicker he would be free of  _ this  _ assignment. The quicker he would be away from the girl, who go under his skin. 

“You must be very important to Her Immortal Majesty if she put you on nurse duty.”

“Given your history, she didn’t trust anyone but her best to keep you in line.”

“Playing warrior in the woods doesn't seem like the greatest indication of talent.”

“I fought on killing fields long before you, your parents, or your grand-uncle were even born.”

“Who’s to fight here except birds and beasts?”

Silence.

She could not be serious? She could not truly believe that Doranelle was always at peace, that Maeve did not weave her webs or the fact that immortality bred the nastiest of monsters.  Lyria had died at the hands of such monsters. He was the strongest fae male and he had failed to protect her against those monsters. 

“The world is far bigger and more dangerous place than you can imagine, girl. Consider yourself blessed to receive any training -- to have the chance to prove yourself.”

“I’ve seen plenty of this big and dangerous world, princeling.”

“Just wait, Aelin.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“It’s your name. I’m not going to call you anything different.”

She stepped closer to him. She was fearless, no one approached him like that, not unless they wanted to die. 

“No one here can know who I am. Do you understand?”

No not fearless. It had been fear at the mention of her name, the girl feared who she was. He did not understand why and honestly he did not care. He had one job and that was to train the girl. He needed to squash whatever curiosity started in that dank office. 

“My aunt has given me a harder task than she realizes, I think.” 

“Fae like you make me understand the King of Adarlan’s actions a bit more, I think.”

He saw nothing but red at her words. The rumors of the king had grown darker and more sinister over the past decade. There was no reason, no cause for what the king had become, for the lives he had stolen. He stops himself from landing the second blow that would have broken her jaw. Instead he vents the uprise of his anger with a low vicious snarl.

“Do it.”

Pain, she wanted to feel pain. He reminded himself that he was the trainer and he was in control. 

“Why should I give you what you want?”

“You’re just as useless as the rest of your brethren.”

He could almost see the rage seeping from her. Oh, she did not know how right she was. A soft, lethal laugh escaped him, she didn’t even realize how useless he was when it mattered.

“If you are that desperate to eat stone, go ahead: I’ll let you try to land the next punch.”

He had to stop himself from laughing at her sloppy attempt to hit him. 

“Like I said, you have a lot to learn. About everything.”

“Next time you say anything like that, I’ll have you chopping wood for a month.”

No one had gotten under his skin like this easily, well Fenrys. The boyo reminded him of the boy he had once been. Cocky. Arrogant. Stupid, so unbelievably stupid. They had nothing in common. She was a spoiled princess turned assassin, who did not see the world for the cess pit it was. She left her kingdom behind to suffer at the hands of a delusion king. Mistward was full of cold rooms. 

“Give me your weapons.”

“Why? And no.”

He had expected that response, if what Maeve said was true, she was an assassin amongst the humans, she had  been wielding them for years. He had counted them on her, surprised not only by the amount, but how well they had been hidden. 

“Give me your weapons.”

“Tell me why.”

“I don't have to explain myself to you.”

“Then we’re going to have another brawl.”

Brawl, what brawl? 

“Starting at dawn, you’ll earn your keep by helping in the kitchen. Unless you plan to murder everyone in the fortress, there is no need for you to be armed. Or to be armed while we train. So I’ll keep your daggers until you’ve earned them back.”

“The kitchen?” Yes, princess the kitchen. He highly doubted in her first 8 years as princess she had ever worked. What he knew of the human assassin guilds they had houses and servants. Her days would have been like his, endless training. 

“Everyone pulls their weight here. Princesses included. No one’s above some hard labor, least of all you.”

“So my training includes being a scullery maid?”

“Part of it.” Oh yes, he was going to enjoy riling her. 

“For an old fae bastard, you certainly haven’t bothered to learn manners at any point in your long existence.”

“Why should I waste flattery on a child who is already in love with herself.”

“We’re related you know.”

“We’ve as much blood in common as I do with the fortress pig-boy.”

He counted the weapons as she dropped them in the bucket. They were well made, could tell that they had been made for her smaller figure. They were better, but the daggers were wrong for her frame, they were simply too heavy. 

“Be ready at dawn.”

\- - - - - - -

He knew that she would be waiting, he let the ice coat over the emotions he had just exposed before he was instructed by Maeve. 

“Well?”

“She’s an angry arrogant girl who is ignorant of the world around her.”

“That is to be expected. How angry?”

“Burn the world angry.”

“Well at least in that sense you are a matched pair.”

His stomach turned at her statement. She had a plan and he was not sure what it was, but centuries had taught him it was never good. There was a reason why his aunt had selected him to train the girl. Gavriel was the best choice, he would have been gentle but firm in her training. Fenrys, well, maybe that would be a bad match, he’d spend too much time trying to get into the girl's pants. Lorcan . . . now that is something he would pay to see: Lorcan versus the princess. 

“How well does she fight?”

He should not have been surprised, she somehow knew everything. 

“With proper training, she could be one of the best, it’s her attitude that will limit her.”

“Train the girl, both magic and fighting. You may bring her to Doranelle once she can hold her own against you.”

Maeve didn’t stay for his response. Didn’t need to, the order was clear. The girl had raw talent, and he needed for her not to be broken tomorrow. He knew damn well she would more likely accept a gift from Maeve, then from him. She stared at him with nothing but pure hatred. He wrote a note and left the tin outside the door. 

_ You deserve it. Maeve sends her wishes for a speedy recovery. _

He wasn’t sure why he said she deserved it, he just knew it was true. 


	5. The Prince of Glory

In the numerous trips he had made over the years he had never stayed the night in Mistward, none of the bloodsworn had. He should not have been surprised that his trunks were already waiting in the room that Emrys had led him to. He had always liked the old male, a little sad that like most demi-fae he never settled, the world needed more like him. The gentle kind.

He had centuries until he faded, Mora’s line held true in both power and immortality. Considering the power he was born with, his immortality would match. What he once considered a blessing, this was now a curse. Alone, he was paying a steep price for glory, a price he deserved for leaving her side, for leaving their side. 

The room was large, simply furnished and the best that Mistward had to offer. He knew what this place was, he had no grandeur delusions, knew that the others here looked at him as not one of their own. That feeling was well deserved, for the way his kind had treated the demi-fae. Many demi-fae had spent years here training before they were granted entrance to Doranelle. Gods above, he could be here for years training Aelin.   
  
He climbed into bed, wondering about the girl. Most pure-blooded fae with fire magic, had just embers. They were able to light candles, maybe start a fire. No one had seen the fire strength that Brannon had been rumored to have. He was to train the descendant of Brannon of the Wildfire. The fae blood had been diluted over generations, but here she was. He wondered if Mala would bless the girl, as she had once blessed Brannon. He fell asleep wondering why mixing the Galathynius lines and Ashryver lines would be volatile.   
  
He surged out of bed. He had never once heard her screams, the screams he dreamed of every night, were not a memory. No the screams were from the worst corners of his imagination, what he imagined her screams to have been. Blood curdling. Desperate. Hopeless. He had been away fighting not for a cause, no for glory. Stories of him were told by warriors, he was idolized by some. Glory, he left her side, allowed for her to be murdered all in the name of glory. He deserved this fate. The black well of darkness. He deserved to spend every second of his immortal life alone.    
  
He quickly dressed, it was almost dawn and he had a princess to take to the kitchens.


	6. The Princess of Cowardice and the Prince of Pride

Annoyed did not even begin to cover his emotions. Today he teetered on a sharp blade between irate and guilt. This made him unpredictable and the last thing he wanted to do was train the princess. Any curiosity he had of the girl and her past vanished in the wake of last nights nightmares. They had been worse than recent memory, they had left him exceedingly raw.

He walked the girl past the courtyard, through the woods and into the forest to the temple ruins. Mala hadn’t failed him to date and the girl was a descendent of her beloved Brannon. He hoped that the temple would pull on her magic. Many only ever saw the warrior, not many saw the prince that he was, is. They forget that he would have had decades of training and schooling including history lessons. Mistward was not just any old fortress, it was an abandoned fortress that Brannon himself once called home. Abandoned, when Maeve moved inland five centuries ago. 

“Do your worst.”

He look up and down her lithe human frame. His worst would kill the girl. The fake smile on her face raised his annoyance to anger, his patience was already holding on a string. Control. He needed control. 

“Wipe that smarmy, lying smile off your face.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Bravado, a mask that she wore well and had probably worn everyday during the past decade to survive, but in this moment he didn’t give a shit. So he wrapped his mask of icy coolness tighter. He had dealt with young spoiled royals before, she was no different. 

“Here’s your first lesson, girl: cut the horseshit. I don't feel like dealing with it, and I’m probably the only one who doesn’t give a damn about how angry and vicious and awful you are underneath.”

“I don’t think you particularly want to see how angry and vicious and awful I am underneath.”

He wanted to laugh in her face. He had spent the last two hundred years being lost in a pit of darkness spewing vicious angry rage at any person who came too close. Two hundred and three years to be exact. He should have cancelled training, but spitting at Aelin was better than the solitude. 

“Go ahead and be nasty as nasty as you want, Princess, because I’ve been ten times as nasty for ten times longer than you have been alive.”

She dropped the act, good. 

“Better. Now shift.”

“It’s not something I can control.”

He didn’t doubt her, control was not something she had. Something she had never been taught. Erilea would have had fae trainers, but it was reported that they were softer. The Galathynius household did not trust the fae from Wendlyn, he was amazed when he learned the Ashryver princess married the Terrassen prince. 

“If I wanted excuses, I’d ask for them. Shift.”

“I hope you brought snacks, because we’re going to be here a long, long while if today’s lesson is dependent upon my shifting.”

“You’re really going to make me enjoy training you.”

“I’ve already participated in a dozen versions of the master-disciple training saga, so why don't we cut that horseshit, too?”

Fair enough, truth, that is something they could both work with. He gave her lethal smile, “Shut your smart-ass mouth and shift.”

“No.”

Fine, if she had never been taught the control to shift, then fear or anger was the next path. She dodged the first move, but he had expected that, in two shift moves he had her pinned to the ground. 

“Shift.”

“Nice try. You think you can trick me into shifting by pissing me off?”

A snarl erupted from his throat in response. Well it did seem like she had lived through at least a few master-disciple relations, enough that she readily realized his tactic. 

“Here’s an idea: I’m as rich as hell. How about we pretend to do this training for a week or so, and then you tell Maeve I’m good and ready to enter her territory, and I’ll give you all the gods-damned gold you want.”

Without a second thought his canines were at her throat. Her scent was wild. Even in her human form his magic was attracted to the wildness and it was slowly slipping any control that he had. He wanted, no needed to know the level of power that she had. 

Gold. He was not sure if it angered him or sadden him that this was a bargaining piece for her. Her people were starving, while she offered gold to a fae prince. Even if she took her up on her offer, it would be a punishment for him. Maeve had given him an order that was clear. 

“Here’s an idea, I don't know what the hell you’ve been doing for ten years, other than flouncing around and calling yourself an assassin. But I think you’re used to getting your way. I think you have no control over yourself. No control, and no discipline -- not the kind that counts, deep down. You are a child, and a spoiled one at that. And, you are a coward.”

She flinched at the word coward, he could not help the nasty laugh. 

“Don’t like that word?”

“Coward. You’re a coward who has run for ten years while innocent people were burned and butchered and enslaved. You left them when it was your duty to protect them. You left thousands to die at the hands of that murdering king, while you killed for money.”

Maeve’s words to him echoed through his iced heart.  _ Well at least in that sense you are a matched pair.  _ They had both failed, cowardice and pride, what a pair they were. He looked at her and knew that she had shut down. 

“Aelin.”

Nothing. 

“Elentiya.”

Nothing. Gods damn it, Her eyes had been dull, but now they were lifeless. 

“Get up”

Something flickered. 

“Get up”

It takes almost no effort to bring the girl to her feet. 

“Pathetic. Spineless and pathetic.”

He wanted her gone and he would give her that chance. 

“I had planned to wait until you had some handle on your power -- planned to make you come at night, when the barrow-wights are really something to behold, but consider this a favor, as there are few that will dare come out in the day. Walk through the mounds -- face the wights and make it to the other side of the field, Aelin, and we can go to Doranelle whenever you wish.”

She eyed my weapons.

“You can either wait to earn back your steel, or you can enter as you are now.”

“My bare hands are weapon enough.” I gave her a taunting grin and started our  trek to the barrows. 

“I leave you here,” and with a feral smile that had most running, “I’ll meet you on the other side of the field.”

He walked around the dead grass. The wind carried her voice,  _ this is not real.  _ Something was not right, maybe wights affected humans differently. His body still at the sound of her scream. Shit. 

She was emerging from solid darkness. Petrified. There was someone in the shadows, not a barrow-wight, something worse, a monster that he did not recognize. 

Holy gods. Shifting took power, and the amount of shifting she was doing meant she had a well that would rival Lorcan’s. Shit.  He tried to carry her, but the continuous shifting between forms made it impossible. He dragged her to the safety of the forest. It took him only moments to circle back. The darkness was gone, just the wights and the treasures remained. 

When he returned the shifting had ceased. A part of him wished she would have settled in her fae form. He tossed his knife as he waited for her to wake. He had almost lost control today. his body screamed at him to bite, to claim. He had not felt that urge in centuries and it unsettled him more that he cared to admit. She had lost control today and she had shifted from fear. 

He sat and a rock waiting. He did not want to think, he did not want to hunt, he did not want to exist. Since the princess had come into his life, he felt a shift. 

“No discipline, no control, and no courage.”

He needed her to know that she had not met the requirement of their bargain. Even though she made it to the other side, even though she came across a being that petrified her, she had not faced the wights.

“You failed, you made it to the other side of the field, but I said to face the wights -- not throw a magical tantrum.”

If glares coul kill…

“I will kill you, how dare --”

“That was not a wight, Princess.”

He glanced back towards the trees until he returned his gaze. That thing should not have been there. 

_ Then what in hell was it, you stupid bastard? _

She could read his words and he could read hers. Not an unheard of connection, but rare all the same. He clenched his jaw. He did not want to think about what this meant. He already had too much to think about.

“I don’t know. We’ve had skinwalkers on the prowl for weeks, roaming down from the hills to search for human pelts, but this . . . this was something different.  I have never encountered its like, not in these lands or any other. Thanks to having to drag you away, I don’t think I’ll learn anytime soon. It was gone when I circled back. Tell me what happened. I saw only darkness, and when you emerged, you were . . . different.”

She looked at her paled skin, the vomit and the soil. But that is not what he had meant when he said different. He could feel the magic surfacing with every shift, trying to protect her. She had power and she was petrified, not just of the creature and whatever it was doing to her, but to use that magic. 

“No, and go to hell.”

I did not have time for this. “Other lives might depend on it.”

“I want to go back to the fortress, right now!”

She was running again, he had to find a way to get her to stop running. “You’re done when I say you’re done.”

“You can kill me or torture me or throw me off a cliff, but I am done for today. In that darkness, I saw things that no one should be able to see. It dragged me through my memories -- and not the decent ones. Is that enough for you?”

In order for him to train her, she needed to trust him. When she said she was done, he needed to respect that boundary. Without a word he headed toward the fortress. 

He had started his day on the edge between irate and guilt, but at some point it had shifted from a blade to a battering ram of anxiety. Until today he thought her a spoiled princess and even though a part of her still was, there was more to her story. His pride had never allowed him to think of how that eight year old girl survived the massacre of her family, let alone what she would have seen during the process. There was a creature close to the fortress that attacked by making one relive their worst memories, feeding off the pain and despair of its victims. He had a fortress full of demi-fae that the creature could feast off of. And he could silently communicate with the princess which for fae meant one of three things, really two because they were  _ not _ mates. The girl either had another power or they were carranam. 

Gods above if they were carranam, that meant her power would match his. A power to match his with absolutely no control. There was only one way to confirm his suspicion and right now was not the time. And if Maeve learned, he couldn’t think of that right now either. 


	7. The Prince of Disparage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place been Rowan dropping Aelin off at the baths and the next day of memorable training.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please accept my sincere apology for the delay. Adulting has been rough this week.

He walked her to the baths. Savoring the silence, there was too much to think about, too many thoughts to organize. Once he dropped her off, he would take flight. Flying had always helped, he felt freed from the cage of life. His father knew that he was never meant to stay in Doranelle, that no matter where he was, not matter how short the flight he was looking for _home_. When he was young his dreams were filled with long flights in mountains full of snow and pine. Now those dreams of home were replaced with the screams of the mate he failed to protect. 

The girl didn’t say a word as he opened the wooden door, “These are the female baths. You’re room is a level up. Be in the kitchens at damn tomorrow.”

He shifted without a thought and left the girl to her thoughts, only to enter his own. In his three centuries he had never come across a creature as the one in the barrows. It was different, his magic wanted to recoil from the wrongness of the darkness. When he saw her running from the darkness, soiled and looking like the life had been taken from her, his first instinct was to kill. It was the terror on her face that made his other instincts come alive, the ones long forgotten, to protect.

Even though he had taken this flight countless times, he let his hawk form search for that home of mountains and pines. As lost as he was, as shamed as he was, he held on to that dream. 

_ _ _ _ _ _

It was not hard to find Malakai, it never was. He was either on duty or with Emrys, who always seemed to be in the kitchens. He landed on a branch outside the kitchen and was surprised to learn  that the old man was a storyteller. He waited listening to the end of love story of an honorable prince who saved his mate from an evil fae. He had learned over the years to tune out such stories. It was the useless empathetic advice that he received that drove him to the edge and one of the many reasons he avoided his meddlesome cousins. If he had to listen to one more of them state, ‘it is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all,’ he would most likely rip their throat out.

Malakai had not come across such a creature and honestly Rowan had not expected him to have. They agreed that patrols should be increased, patrols would be of two or more demi-fae and no one was to go near the barrows. He spent half the night writing messages to the other demi-fae in the region, asking about unexplained sightings of darkness or anything else they found odd.

On his way back to his room, he passed the bath, her clothes and boots were still in a pile. He grabbed them and took them to the wash basin. Spoiled. He wondered if she ever had to clean anything other than her weapons.  Still in the darkness she survived today she had relived her darkest memories.

The rhythmic motions of cleaning and polishing her boots brought him back to his own childhood memories. The power of wind had been expected. His warrior build had been expected. The power to control ice had not been. He was eight when his cousin had annoyed him. Eight when he froze the fountain in the courtyard. He remembered how he expected his parents to be angry because he had killed the koi fish. Instead they were supportive, helped him everyday to control his powers. He was eight when his family learned that the power he possessed was more than most. She was eight when her parents had been murdered, what had the girl seen?

It didn't matter, nothing excused the coward she had become. She was not a coward because she ran from the creature, no that was tactical. She was a coward because she would not help him with the creature. She was a coward because she turned her back on her country on her duty. He knew even now she was running from something, because the Princess of Terrasen was a coward and he hated her for it.


	8. The Prince of Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Powan's POV of the infamous bite scene.

He had no idea what it was about this girl that got under his skin. In the last two weeks he had learned one thing, his normal cold exterior was lost where she was concerned. His fingers moved fast to grab the tongue that was spitting vulgarities. He just needed a damn moment of quiet. She moved to disarm him by both knife and knee. He pressed against her hard, pinning her against the nearby tree.

He reluctantly released her tongue, knowing that vulgarities would ensue. What he did not expect was for her to spit.  With no forethought he bit her, a deep primal bite, a bite to claim. He didn’t have enough time to form expectations as she shifted and pushed him away. Even if he had had time to compile a list of expectations, he would have never expected for his magic to sing. He could taste the embers in her blood and the claim of another. Faint but there, nonetheless. 

Before he could help himself he grinned, “There you are.” The wind and ice in his blood danced. 

He spit her blood out, he had no desire to lose control again and the taste of her was not helping. Her blood for whatever gods damn cursed reason spoke to him, the embers called to the ice in his veins.  He still did not want to think or acknowledge what it meant for them. Lyria was his soul bonded mate. This wildfire was most likely his magical equal and they likely shared an eternal bond just as rare. And her gods damned scent. 

He could sense her magic wanting to be released and for the first time since he was a child, he felt his magic wanting to dance and play. Her reaction was the polar opposite, she was afraid to play and was fighting the release, his magic’s call to her. “Let it out. Don’t fight it.” His body, his magic didn’t care as it pulsed towards hers, calling to play. Damn him. Damn her.

The forest around them erupted in blue flame. If his life had been different he would have appreciated the beauty of it, but he had stopped seeing beauty in the world. His soul died, the soul that would have appreciated the beauty of her blue wildfire died two hundred years ago and since then he just existed, waiting for deaths final blow.

He extinguished the flames, it was a surprise to him the amount of power it took. He didn’t know why he asked, “Does your lover know what you are?”

“He knows everything.” He had the feeling that was not entirely true. What bothers him more is why he cares.

“I won’t be biting you again.” A declaration. A line he needed to draw, she was a spoiled royal, a mere child in comparison to his centuries and she was proving it to him everyday. 

“Even if it’s the only way to get me to shift?”

Did no one teach the girl about her fae heritage?  She viewed this as a bite, not as the claim it was. Cauldron damn him she probably didn’t even know the significance of the bite he just gave her. She wouldn’t know that the claim was not about possession, but a promise to protect and honor, to claim her as family. Cauldron damn him, he had no right to such a claim, never again. He could not tell her that truth. 

“You don’t bite the woman of other males.” 

“We’re -- not together. Not anymore. I let him go before I came here.”

“Why?”

“Because he is safer if he is as repulsed by me as you are.”

Maybe she was not as selfish as he thought her to be. She let go of the male she loved to keep him safe. 

“At least you have already learned one lesson.”

He could see the question in her expression. Hated that he could read her that well, with every exchange between them the hatred was growing. Not because of who she was, no if he was honest it is because of who he was. He did not want to feel, he did not want his ice to thaw, he wanted to exist until the darkness claimed him and returned him to Lyria. 

“The people that you love are just weapons that will be used against you.”

Maeve had taught him that lesson, taught all the bloodsworn that lesson. Connell and Fenrys was proof enough of that level of manipulation. It did not help that as she commanded them to threatened the loved ones of the fae that Maeve wanted to punish or sway to her side. 

“Shift again, this time try to search for the wall and punch through it.”

He was pretty certain that whatever he had just said, she did not hear it. 

“Are you listening?”

“Why don't you just bite me again?”

He would never bite her again, he would never lose that control over himself again. He had no right and no honor left to claim another. So he pushed her away. 

“Why don’t I give you the lashings you deserve?”

“If you ever take a whip to me. I will skin you alive.”

Mala save him. He did not want this. He did not want a trainee that got under his skin. He did not want to look into those lifeless eyes every gods damned day. He did not want to feel anger, despair or sympathy. He did not want to be reminded of his failure to Lyria and his child. He did not want to feel anything!

“If you don't shift again, you’re pulling double duty in the kitchens for the next week.”

“Fine.”

“You’re worthless.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You would probably have been more useful to the world if you’d actually died ten years ago.”

“I’m leaving.”

He did not follow her, he could not follow her. 

He did not know what made him say that. The worst part, he knew it was not true. The world already thought the girl was dead, and it did not make a difference. The king had broken her kingdom, she was believed dead along with countless others. The world went on, just as it had when Lyria died, when his soul died with her. He had seen entire kingdoms fall and already forgotten by the world. Every night he would survive the nightmares. Every day he would do whatever Lorcan or Maeve commanded of him. He had survived in darkness. In the rare times he needed a prayer, he did not pray to the god of war or to the god of darkness. No he prayed only to Mala, to the Lady of Light and Fire. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say, I loved writing this scene. Come find me in the tumblr trashcan @sparkleywonderful.


	9. The Princess of Flight

 

He knew that she was going to run and he knew she would only run the way she came in towards Varese. He stood directly in her path. Reminding himself that she was 18 and just a girl. 

“Is this what you do? Run away when things get hard?”

With determination set on her face, she brushed past him. A part of him wanted to chuckle, this little girl. 

“You’re free of your obligation to train me, so I have nothing more to say to you, and you have nothing more to say to me. Do us both a favor and go to hell.”

He could not help but growl at her curse. He was already in hell, surrounded by darkness. “Have you ever had to fight for anything in your life?”

Her response was a low bitter laugh. He goaded her for a reaction, a response, anything to get her to stop running. 

“You’re proving me right with every step you take.”

“I don’t care.”

That was not exactly true. She may not care about him, but she cared deeply for whatever cause had sent her here. He couldn’t remember what she wanted from Maeve, he had zoned out of the conversation between the two women. 

“I don’t know what you want from Maeve -- what answers you are looking for, but you --”

“You don’t know what I want from her? How about saving the world from the King of Adarlan?”

He doubted that Maeve had the answers for her, even if she did, they were not easy answers. Honestly what was the point, for every evil thing he had eradicated from their world, another stepped in it’s place. He didn’t want to save a world where innocence died, while the monsters roamed. “Why bother? maybe the world’s not worth saving.”

“Because I made a promise. A promise to my friend that I would see her kingdom freed.”

The girl had made a vow, not entirely ignorant of their ways. And not just any vow, but a blood oath. 

“I made an unbreakable vow. And you and Maeve -- all you gods-damned bastards -- are getting in the way of that.”

She continued walking. He followed. The girl in her could not see that it was not him, but her that was getting in her own way. He had not withheld training her, not matter how frustrating it had been. The girl was confusing at best, she had power to defeat most enemies, but was afraid of that power. She preferred to be an assassin over a princess. Even her reactions were like wildfire, he never knew the intensity or where it would flow. 

“And what of your own people? What of your own kingdom?”

“They are better off without me, just as you said.”

An annoyed snarl ran through him. “So you’d save another land, but not yours. Why can’t your friend save her own kingdom?”

“Because she is dead! Because she is dead, and I am left with my worthless life!”

He could not move. The words she spoke echoed through his soul. Memories crept forward. Memories of that day, flying as fast as the winds and his wings would carry him. The call in his blood to protect driving him forward.  _ Because she is dead, and I am left with my worthless life. _ Bile rose in his throat as he remembered picking up the charred remains of his mate. He remembered roaring to the heavens, to the gods that never listened. His roar silenced when he realized that she was carrying his child. Dead, his mate was dead, his child with her and he was left a worthless shell. He had nothing left. He had failed them in the name of glory, a worthless ambition for a worthless boy. He was left with nothing, not even his honor. 


	10. The Princess of Wildfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowan POV of the encounter with the skin walkers.

He had no idea how long he stood there. It had been day time when she left him. The sky had turned to night and the once clear skies now promised rain. His attention was instantly drawn to the little people before him. On the ground they had constructed an arrow pointing towards the old road, followed by what he could only describe as a warm hand pushing in the same direction. Aelin. 

He smells the fire before he sees it. One rule, no fires. Two rules actually, no fires and off paths. Was it him, or did the girl have the inability to listen to anyone? He froze as a familiar scent of decay hit him.  _ Skinwalkers. _

_ Where is she. Where is she. Where is she.  _

He loosened a breathe, a breath he did not realize he was holding as the lightning from the storm illuminates her golden hair. He watches her from a moment, running from tree to tree, using the sound of the thunder to muffle the sounds of her movements. Alive. He moves closer towards her. He plans to appear just as she loses her footing and slams right into him. She lunges at him, with a stake in hand.  They did not have time for this, not if they were going to survive, he grabs her wrists and pulls her towards his chest.

“You are going to listen to every word I say. Or else you are going to die tonight. Do you understand?”

She nodded and he let go.

“Your survival depends entirely on you. You need to shift now. or your mortal slowness will kill you.”

The skinwalkers were closing in, they had just minutes.  The shrieking sound of stone and metal began to echo through the forest. 

“Your magic --”

“They do not breathe, so have no airways to cut off. Ice would slow them, not stop them. My wind is already blowing our scent away from them, but not for long. Shift, Aelin.”

“We are going to have to run in a moment. What form you take when we do will determine our fates. So breathe, and shift.”

He knows she is trying, searching for that veil. Her breathing is fast paced on the border of panic, the scent of her fear floods his senses.  She needed to be calm, with half a thought he sends cool air her way and covers her body. Gods she is so small compared to him, with all her personality he never noticed how small. 

He loosens a breath as she shifts. 

The skinwalkers were closing in,  “There are two of them now. A fae male joined the female. I want him -- he smells of storm winds and steel. The female we’ll bring back with us -- dawn’s too close. Then we can take our time peeling her apart.”

“There is a swift river a third of a mile east, at the base of a large cliff.”

He glances at the useless stake in her hand and grabs two of his lightest daggers.  

“When I say run, you run like hell. Step where I step, and don’t turn around for any reason. If we are separated, run straight -- you’ll hear the river. If they catch you, you cannot kill them -- not with a mortal weapon. Your best option is to fight until you can get free and run. Understood?”

She gave him a slight nod. 

“On my mark”

He took a deep breath, he knew would have to slow down for her. 

“Steady”

He waited, needed a sign as to where the skinwalkers were, “Come out, come out.”

“Now.”

They sprinted out of the tree. She moved faster than he expected, but her footing was off, still agile but off. He caught her as she slipped on the wet moss. They needed to move faster, the skinwalkers were closing in. 

“Faster”

He could see the light, the cliff was close. The stench of a skinwalker hits him just as it jumps out. A swing of the hatchet and sword, disables the walker. 

He glanced back as he leaped off the cliff, just to hear her shout “Shift!”

Holy gods. The wildfire from earlier that day had been nothing in comparison. Not in intensity or size. The skinwalkers were ash before they had a chance to scream. Both sides of the river were on fire, easily a 3 klick radius. 

“Can you put it out?”

He assessed her, the ice in his veins told him that she was not spent. 

“You could if you tried.”

She stared at him, not bothering to deign a reply. “I’m almost done.”

“We don't need something else attracted to your fires.”

Reigning silence.

He didn’t know what to say. He did not know if he should scream at her for her stupidity, chastise her for her cowardice, or apologize for what he had said earlier. She was truly the heir of Brannon’s wildfire, the lost princess of a broken kingdom, a girl raised by killers, a lost soul. A girl that let go of a lover and lost a friend. He decided to wait for her to choose the tone of their next words. 

“Why is my shifting so vital?”

“because it terrifies you, mastering it is the first step toward learning how to control your power. Without control, with a blast like that, you could have easily burnt yourself out.”

He didn’t want to add that any other fire magic wielder could never created such a blast, even with a complete burnout. 

“What do you mean?

The look on her face showed another part of her, the intelligent girl trying to make sense of her world. Did no one teach this girl?

“When you access your power, what does it feel like?”

“A well. The magic feels like a well.”

“Have you felt the bottom of it?”

“Is there a bottom?”

A three klick radius and she did not even reach the bottom. For the first time he wondered if she held more power than him. Whatever had happened up there, there was a shift and for the first time in weeks he had her attention.

“All magic has a bottom -- a breaking point. For those with weaker gifts, it’s easily depleted and easily refilled. They can access most of their power at once. But those with stronger gifts, it can take hours to hit the bottom, to summon their powers to full strength.”

“how long does it take you.”

“A full day. Before battle, we take the time, so that when we walk onto the killing field, we can be at our strongest. You can do other things at the same time, but some part of you in down in there, pulling up more and more, until you reach the bottom.”

“And when you pull it all out, it just -- releases in some giant wave?”

“If I want it to. I can release smaller bursts, and go for a while. But it can be hard to hold back. People sometimes can’t tell friend from foe when they’re handing that much magic.”

“How long does it take you to recover?”

“Days. A week, depending on how I used the power and whether I drained every last drop. Some make the mistake of trying to take more before they are ready, or holding on far too long, and they either burn out their minds or just burn up altogether. Your shaking isn’t just from the river, you know. It’s your boy’s way of telling you not to do that again.”

“Because of the iron in our blood pushing against the magic?”

“That’s how our enemies will sometimes try to fight against us if they don't have magic -- iron everything.”

He did not give the girl enough credit, in the weeks he had learned her facial expressions, she had been doing the same. She knew that there was a story. 

“I was captured once. While on a campaign in the east, in a kingdom that doesn’t exist anymore. They had me shackled head to toe in iron to keep me from choking the air out of their lungs.”

“Were you tortured?”

“Two weeks on their tables before my men rescued me.”

He did not know why, but he unbuckled his brambrace. 

“Cut me open bit by it, then took the bones here and --”

“I can see very well what happened, and know exactly how it’s done.”

The light left her eyes. 

“Was it you or someone else?”

“I was too late. He didn’t survive.”

Her voice was hollow, sad. 

“Thank you for saving me.”

He was not worthy of her gratitude, he was a worthless male that had failed to protect his mate and child. 

“I am bound by an unbreakable blood oath to my Queen, so I had no choice to ensure you didn‘t die. But, i would not have left anyone to a fate at the hands of the skinwalkers.”

“A warning would have been nice.”

“I said they were on the loose -- weeks ago. but even if I’d warned you today, you would not have listened?”

“What was the trigger when you shifted earlier?

“It as nothing.”

He wasn’t going to let it go at nothing. 

“Let’s just say it was fear and necessity and impressively deep-rooted survival instincts.”

“You didn’t lose control immediately upon shifting. When you finally used your magic, your clothes didn’t burn; neither did your hair. And the daggers didn’t melt.”

He took the ivory handled daggers from her. 

“Why was it different this time?”

“Because I didn’t want you to die to save me.”

“Would you have shifted to save yourself?”

“Your opinion of me is pretty much identical to my own, so you know the answer.”

Even though his heart had been frozen for two centuries, he could not help but feel a pang of empathy. He knew who this girl was, but there was something about her. He could give her the only thing he had left, his knowledge. At least her cause was not in the name of glory, not to gain back her crown, no her cause was to stop a murderous king. Her cause was to ensure no other eight year old girls with bright and safe futures became orphans. 

He would have time to work out what she meant when she said that she didn’t want him to die to save her. 

“You’re not leaving.” He crossed his arms prepared for another fight. “I’m not letting you off double duty in the kitchens, but you’re not leaving.”

“Why?”

Because you wanted to save me. Because we are most likely carranam. Because that power you just displayed didn’t burn you out as it should have. The fact that the blue wildfire took a great deal of concentration to smother. Because you are the first person to make me feel something, even past the anger. 

“Because I said so, that’s why.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am one step closer to the chapter I am dying to write :) I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I loved writing it. Thank you for all the kudos and support.


	11. The Prince of Idleness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say, this was a hard one to title and to write. I almost skipped it...almost.

The last week had been mind numbingly uneventful and he hated every moment of it. He could not remember a time where he had been this idle. It did not help that every morning for the past week he had awoken with the taste of her blood in his mouth. He hated her for it, he hated the rutting gods for it, for making this girl his likely carranam. 

He was going to lose his mind, which was even ironic for him because he thought he had already lost it, this was far worse, his thoughts were always torn between his failures and the girl who sat before him. A special kind of hell created by the dark god himself. 

The girl had only shifted three times in the weeks she had been at Mistward, each time had been in response to an outside threat. He was half tempted to capture a skinwalker or some other creature in the  mountains. Anything to stop this idling. Biting her again seemed like an option and it was taking his entire being not to.  Sure he could teach her how to use her magic in this form, but it would be harder. If she had not learned the control to shift it would be dangerous to teach her magic in her animal form, not only for the girl, but for anyone within a three klick radius. 

It was a rare sunny day, maybe just once Mala would bless him and provide the solace he so desired, not deserved, no wanted with every ounce of his dead heart. 

He watches her as she stands and goes to examine a pillar. He can feel that her magic is begging to be released, to play in the ruins. Heir of Wildfire indeed, he wondered what Mala thought of her beloved’s heir. That was the thing about Mala, all the Fae knew is one day her followers were gone, her temples abandoned, and not a word or blessing on any fire wielder.  For centuries fire wielding fae were left with embers of power. 

“What was this place, anyway?”

He was quickly learning if she wanted something she could almost be amicable, “The Sun Goddess's temple.”

“You’ve been bringing me here because you think it might help with mastering my powers -- my shifting?”

Was it not obvious, your powers were gifted to Brannon by Mala. He simply nodded. There were other reasons, the stags, the little people and something deep down told him that she needed to be tied to her roots. 

“Mab was immortalized into godhood thanks to Maeve, but that was over five hundred years ago. Mala had a sister in the moon long before Mab took her place.”

A question about Mab, not Mala, where was she going with this? “Deanna was the original sister’s name. But you humans gave her some of Mab’s traits. The hunting, the hounds.”

“Perhaps Deanna and Mala weren’t always rivals.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Did you ever know Mab?”

He held back a chuckle, “No. I am old, but not that old.”

“Do you feel old?”

Yes. Tired, so damned tired. 

“I am still considered young by the standards of my kind.”

“You said that you once campaigned in a kingdom that no longer exists. You’ve been off to war several times, it seems, and seen the world. That would leave its mark. Age you on the inside.”

Maybe this girl was more than she looked, at eighteen she had already learned the lesson that age was just a number, “Do you feel old?”

“These days, I am very glad to be a mortal, and to only have to endure this life once. These days I don’t envy you at all.”

No one would envy him, a dishonored male, a male that left his pregnant mate unprotected. 

“And before?”

“I used to wish I had a chance to see it all -- and hated that I never would.”

He was fairly certain that those dreams died with an eight year old princess. One by the sounds that never wanted to be queen if she dreamed of travel and freedom. He was lucky, there were so many in the line before him, he was prince but never the prince that would rule the family, even before he sworn himself to Maeve. 

“Is this where the stags were kept -- before this place was destroyed?”

He had never seen the immortal stags in Doranelle, he wanted to ask if she had ever seen one in Terrasan or if they were gone from this world, to know if they left with Brannon. 

“I don't know. This temple wasn’t destroyed; it was abandoned when the Fae moved to Doranelle, and then ruined by time and weather.”

“Emrys’s stories said destroyed, not abandoned.”

He looked at the ruins and had to agree, time and weather may have partially been responsible for condition of the ruins, but they had had help. 

“Again what are you getting at?”

“The Fae on my continent -- in Terrasen . . . they weren’t like you. At least I don’t remember them being that way. There weren't many, but . . . The King of Adarlan hunted and killed them, so easily. Yet when I look at you, I don't understand how he did it.”

It was then that he felt the crack, looking at the sadness in her eyes, the loss. She had started to crack a two century old heart cast in hoar frost. 

“I’ve never been to your continent, but I heard that the Fae there were gentler -- less aggressive, very few trained in combat -- and they relied heavily on magic. Once magic was gone from your lands, many of them might not have known what to do against trained soldiers.”

“And yet Maeve wouldn’t send aid.”

His family had been among those willing to sail. Willing to stand against a tyrannical human king. Even though they did not have current relations with Terrasen, not since they had closed their borders to Doranelle fae, there had once been relations. His family volunteered to die to save those less able than themselves. He will never forget the disappointment in Endymion’s voice, it was the last time he had spoken to his cousin. He’ll never forget the look on King Ashryver’s face when he was told not to help. He’ll never forget when the final report reached Doranelle stating that Terrasen had fallen. 

“The Fae of your continent long ago severed ties with Maeve. But there were some in Doranelle who argued in favor of helping. My queen wound up offering sanctuary to any who could make it here.”

She did not want to know how few made it. She did not want to know that less than two dozen had made it to the borders of Doranelle and that none were from Terrasen. 


	12. The Princess of Odoriferosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowan's POV of the first body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost skipped this one, but i could not, I know this is boring but we are a third of the way there. Let me tell you something, these titles may change, I’m running out of ideas.

He almost pulled her from the kitchens early this morning, Malakai’s scouts had found a body. He knew another day of training would be as eventful as the previous week's worth of sessions. He waited for her and watched her as she shrugged on her jacket. 

“You’re already late.”

“There were extra dishes this morning. Can I expect to do something useful with you today, or will it be more sitting and growling and glaring? Or will I just wind up chopping wood for hours on end?”

He didn’t deign a response as he entered the halls, but she follows him. The demi-Fae that they pass seem shocked, he glanced over his shoulder and sees that she is smiling. Something in his heart leaps.  He was not certain if she had smiled during her time here. A small part of him, that tiny part of him that was thawing in response to her fire wondered when was the last time she smiled.

“They’ve all been keeping their distance because of the scent you put out.”

“Excuse me?”

He almost laughed when she sniffed herself. 

“There are more males than females here -- and they’re fairly isolated from the world. Haven’t you wondered why they haven’t approached you?”

The scent she put out was barely tolerable to even those that had zero interest in the girl. He often wondered how Luca and Emrys dealt with it. Especially Luca, his sense of smell was stronger than most demi-fae and he was young. 

“They stayed away because I . . . smell?”

“Your scent says that you don't want to be approached. The males smell it more than the females, and have been staying the hell away. They don’t want their faces clawed off.”

“Good, I’m not interested in men . . . males.”

Of all the responses he expected, it was not that one and he also knew it was not true. Her lover had been male, he awoke almost every morning with the taste of her blood in his mouth. The embers with the hint of a human male lover. He wondered if he bit her now, if that hint would be gone, leaving just the embers. 

“What happens if you become queen? Will you refuse a potential alliance through marriage?”

He watched her as she thought about it, thought about the costs of being royalty. He was baiting her, looking to see what her response would be. If she would take the role expected of a queen. And a part of him, a very small part of him wondered if such an alliance would destroy her. 

“Nice try.”

With a smirk, “You’re learning.”

“You get baited by me every now and then, too, you know.”

Gods he knew and he still wondered what it was about the girl that melted his cool exterior, how she got under his skin. 

“Where the hell are we going today? We never head west.”

“You want to do something useful, So here’s your chance.”

He led them to the husk of a female body, exactly where Malakai said it would be. 

“What did this? 

He examined the remains, what ever did this left just the skin and bones. 

“Why not just dump her in the sea? Leaving her in a stream seems idiotic. They left tracks, too -- unless those are from whoever found her.”

Malakai gave me the report this morning -- and he and his men are trained not to leave tracks. But this scent . . . I’ll admit is different.”

He continued to study the body, every sweep made him more furious. 

“So you tell me, assassin. You wanted to be useful.”

He truly was an ass. 

“You claimed you didn’t know what that thing in the barrow field was, I think this is what it does.”

He sniffed the surroundings, rotten and wrong. 

“You came out of that darkness looking as if someone had sucked the life from you. Your skin was a shade paler, your freckles gone.”

“It forced me to go through . . . memories. The worst kind. Have you ever heard of a creature that can feed on such things?  When I glimpsed it, I saw a man -- a beautiful man, pale and dark-haired, with eyes of full black. He wasn’t human. I mean, he looked it, but his eyes -- they weren’t human at all.”

In his almost three centuries he never come across such a creature. 

“Even my queen doesn’t know every foul creature roaming these lands. If skinwalkers are venturing down from the mountains, perhaps other things are, too.”

He was shocked when she requests to burn the body, it was in that moment he knew that her hard exterior was just that an exterior. She felt, maybe deeper than most. He could not help but think of the little girl that dreamed of seeing the world. Dreamed the dreams that would never come true for her because she was born to be a queen. A queen that had seen horrors and had somehow survived them. A queen that did not wish for the world world to burn. While he coaxed the wind to control the fire, he decided he would take her to the healing commune, he wanted for  her see a little good in the world. 


	13. The Prince of Nostalgia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 13 of The Prince of Ice series, a retelling of Heir of Fire from Rowan’s point of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I have been dying to write this chapter, just dying. Because it is the first time we see a playful Rowan. The first time I read this chapter I did not appreciate it. Rowan has been stuck in darkness and he still is. When you start to heal from life crippling event, there are good days and bad days and all the meh days in-between. On the good days you remember how to live, on the good days you remember the little things.

He did not want to admit to himself the reason he was in a good mood. When he decided to take Aelin to the commune, he did it for her, to show her something that she would not find in Rifthold and honestly to take a break from training. What he did not expect was the excitement and eagerness the flowed out of her. 

He had done that and in turn, it had released something in his soul, something warm and forgotten. His nightmares last night were mild and when he awoke with the taste of her blood in his mouth, he did not want to immediately go and rip her to shreds. Instead he patiently waited for Aelin to grab breakfast. When she finally appeared, he held his small pack open for her. “Clothes.”

He did not know what to say to her. Just about everything he had ever said to her, riled her up. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought that maybe he got under her skin, just as much as she did his. He wanted to enjoy the fleeting moment of amicable silence between them, so he headed west and did not speak until they were through the wards. 

“Shift, and let’s go,” 

“And here I was, thinking we’d become friends.” Friends. What in the hell was this girl doing to him?  He could not find it in himself to completely reject or accept the term. 

So instead he gave her a wicked grin, “It’s twenty miles, we’re running . . . Each way.” 

“And where are we going?”

He didn’t know why he expected her just to comply. “There was another body—a demi-Fae from a neighboring fortress. Dumped in the same area, same patterns. I want to go to the nearby town to question the citizens, but …” 

He needed to stop himself right there, he didn’t need to snarl, his kind caused this rift. 

“But I need your help. It’ll be easier for the mortals to talk to you.” 

“Is that a compliment?”

He clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes, “Shift, or it’ll take us twice as long.” 

“I can’t. You know it doesn’t work like that.” 

A month had taught him that snarling at her was not going to result in her shifting. Neither was silence, patience, or growling. Fists, curse words and vulgar gestures also did not work. The countless hours of chopping wood did not seem to phase her. He doubted that flattery would work, in that sense he knew they were the same, flattery were hollow words. Maybe a challenge. 

“Don’t you want to see how fast you can run?” 

“I can’t use my other form in Adarlan anyway, so what’s the point?” 

Because you are here now, because we are here now and for the second day in a row he was not drowning in the past. 

“The point is that you’re here now, and you haven’t properly tested your limits.” 

Fine, if that point would not work, “The point is, another husk of a body was found, and I consider that to be unacceptable.” 

He gave her braid a sharp tug as he taunted her, just like the times he used to taunt his cousin Sellene, “Unless you’re still frightened.” 

He almost laughed as he watched her nostrils flare, he never understood what it was about tugging a braid that infuriated girls. 

“The only thing that frightens me is how very much I want to throttle you.” 

And there it was. The same look she had each time she had shifted. It was not out of fear that she had shifted, no it was anger. 

“Hone it—the anger.” 

He enraged her every day, unless he didn’t. Unless the cursing, snarling, growling, and vulgarities was an outlet or a wall to protect, maybe both. Anger, he understood anger. He had lived the past two hundred years in some form of anger, because he could never find peace. 

“Let it be a blade, Aelin. If you cannot find the peace, then at least hone the anger that guides you to the shift. Embrace and control it—it is not your enemy.” 

That is when he saw it, she had been afraid to shift from whatever conditioning she had received. All this time it was fear that stopped the transition, it was anger that fueled it. He would have to think on that later. 

“This will not end well,” she breathed. 

He would not back down, every sense in his body told him he was close, that she was close to breaking through the veil. 

“See what you want, Aelin, and seize it. Don’t ask for it; don’t wish for it. Take it.” 

Because no one is ever going to give it to you, even what the gods gift you they will take away. 

“I’m certain the average magic instructor would not recommend this to most people.” 

She was not most people and he was not a magic instructor. He really did hope that his uncle paid their magic instructor well. Between him, Edna and Sellene, that instructor really did not have a chance. 

“You are not most people, and I think you like it that way. If it’s a darker set of emotions that will help you shift on command, then that’s what we’ll use. There might come a day when you find that anger doesn’t work, or when it is a crutch, but for now . . . it was the common denominator those times you shifted—anger of varying kinds. So own it.”

And there she was. The ice in his veins danced and in that moment he decided he wanted play. So he moved with speed that he had honed over the years and yanked her braid. And for a moment he remembered the happiness he had as a child, teasing his cousins. He darted and pinched her side. 

“Stop—” 

He was standing in front of her now, his magic and his heart were screaming, begging her,  _ please play with me _ . 

He moved to pinch her left side — What. The. Rutting. Hell. Just. Happened?  

He blinked. She did not seriously just whack him upside the head, while blocking him.

Her answering smirk, was all he needed. 

“Oh, you’d better run now.” 

He slowed his pace waiting for her to adjust to her new body, to the senses that were likely overwhelming. He watched the anger fade away into what seemed like joy. 

For the first time in what seemsed like an eternity Rowan let the world go. Let the pain. The expectations. The titles. The sorrow. The loss. He let them all go and lived in that moment. He could not remember the last time he felt this free. The last time he smiled from joy. He did not want to stop. 

When they arrived, she was just staring at him and the reality of the situation hit him in the gut, they both had demons that they would never be free from. So he tossed her the spare shirt she brought from the pack and turned to change into his own. 

\- - - - - -

The town had been everything he expected, closed doors and sealed lips. He was about ready to head back to the fortress.

“You’re used to this, I assume?” 

“A lot of the Fae who venture into mortal lands have earned themselves a reputation for … taking what they want. It went unchecked for too many years, but even though our laws are stricter now, the fear remains.” 

He had pushed for the change, actually him and Gavriel had just taken it upon themselves to punish the crueler of their kind. 

“Who enforces these laws?” 

It was one of the few tasks that he enjoyed. The assassination orders and campaigns he could live without, the thanked the gods that he did not have to share her bed. “I do. When I’m not off campaigning, my aunt has me hunt down the rogues.” 

“And kill them?” 

Most of them time, unless it is a rogue she has a plan for. 

“If the situation calls for it. Or I just haul them back to Doranelle and let Maeve decide what to do with them.” 

“I think I’d prefer death at your hands to death at Maeve’s.”

Most would, but they often forgot that sometimes we were just an extension of Maeve’s hands. If we were ordered to kill a fae over days, the bond demanded that the death be slow. 

“That might be the first wise thing you’ve said to me.” 

“The demi-Fae said you have five other warrior friends. Do they hunt with you? How often do you see them?” 

It had actually been a while since he had seen and of the inner circle. Now that he thought of it, he had been stationed mostly in Wendlyn since the winter. 

“I see them whenever the situation calls for it. Maeve has them serve her as she sees fit, as she does with me.” 

“It is an honor to be a warrior serving in her inner circle.” 

He said it only because today he needed to remind himself of the lie he had been telling himself since Sollemere. She hadn’t even ordered the children out, he and Lorcan drew that line in the sand. 

“Did you bring any money?” 

“Yes. They won’t take your bribes, though.” 

“Good. More for me, then.” 

She pointed to the sign swaying in the breeze. He should have known that the princess had a sweet tooth. 

“If we can’t win them with charm, we might as well win them with our business.” 

“Did you somehow not hear what I just—”

And just like that, an 18 year old girl taught him a lesson he had never learned. Bribes were for courtiers, politicians and criminals, not for close knit communities with hard working peoples. They went from shop to shop and he watched in amazement as Aelin charmed every single business owner. He carried every bag and box, except the chocolate. He was pretty sure that Hellas himself could not get those chocolates from her.  He appreciated that most of what she bought could be used by someone at Mistward. She had only bought herself the chocolates and a few books. 

The day ended and although they gained no new information, it was a good day. 

He watched her sleep and so did the little people. When they realized that he would keep watch, they drifted away. 

The last two days and the silence of the evening under the stars, brought forth a plethora of thoughts. He stared at the Lord of the North as he acknowledged that in a month, not even a full month, she had him feeling more than he had in the last two hundred years. He knew he would never be free, Maeve would only release him to death, but that did not stop the yearning in his blood for that home full of pine and snow. Until today he did not regret his oath, and he knew at some point this would end, the girl would leave, but it was damn nice to have a happy memory for once. 


	14. The Prince of Annihilation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 14 of The Prince of Ice series, a retelling of Heir of Fire from Rowan’s point of view. This part takes place during Gavriel's first visit and that horrific scene in the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This one breaks my own heart, please know that I am sorry. I am so very sorry. I added a little more of Uncle Kitty Cat in hopes to lessen the blow, but I think I just made it more depressing.

Seeing Gavriel reminded him that he was not free. He would never be free. Whatever wave he had been on crashed against the reality that he called life. He knew the reason Gavriel was here, hell he had expected him weeks ago. He walked his friend to his room and began tattooing the names of Gavriel’s fallen while the tawny eyed male mourned another loss. 

\- - - - - - -

He knew who it was before she knocked on the door. 

“What?”

“I thought you might want some stew and—”

The last person he wanted to see was the girl, he snarled at her, “Get out.”

“Do you want the stew?”

He knew Gavriel would need food and it would save them a trip to the kitchen later, “Leave it.”

“Sorry to interrupt.”

Gavriel’s attention was now on Aelin, something flashed in his tawny eyes that unnerved him. The sorrow was different than it had been before. The girl was the cause of that new sorrow in his companion’s gaze.

“Sorry.”

Anger roiled off of him, he did not want anyone to take care of him, he did not want a friend, he did not want for anyone to use the girl against him. He belonged solely to Maeve until the day he faded. It was a fate he deserved for failing his mate. For losing his honor as a fae male. 

He put down the needle and mallet on the workbench, he did not look at Gavriel before he stormed out of the room, but before he could say a word to the girl, “Do you do it for the money?”

He flashed his teeth, “One, it’s none of your business. And two, I would never stoop so low.”

“You know, it might be better if you just slapped me instead.”

“Instead of what?” His patience with the girl, with this day was waning. 

“Instead of reminding me again and again how rutting worthless and awful and cowardly I am. Believe me, I can do the job well enough on my own. So just hit me, because I’m damned tired of trading insults. And you know what? You didn’t even bother to tell me you’d be unavailable. If you’d said something, I never would have come. I’m sorry I did. But you just  _ left _ me down stairs.”

“You left me,” A chasm in his heart opened, not opened, erupted. She had ripped a wound open so large he wasn’t sure he could stop it. A wound that he had carefully stitched together over ten years, and an oath to Maeve. 

He does not hear what the girl is saying, he does not see what she looks like. He is swallowed by memories of their last fight right before he left, right before he  _ left _ her. It wasn’t even a fight, he hears her beg him to stay, to stay with her. 

_ Please, my love, do not leave me. Do not leave me here alone.  _

He  _ left _ her.  He  _ left _ her.  He  _ left _ her. 

He  _ left _ his beautiful, kind, loving mate. He  _ left _ his child. He  _ left _ her. 

And with an icy anger he had not felt in years, not since he tore those fae males apart slowly, he looked at the girl, “There is nothing that I can give you. Nothing I want to give you. You are not owed an explanation for what I do outside of training. I don’t care what you have been through or what you want to do with your life. The sooner you can sort out your whining and self-pity, the sooner I can be rid of you. You are nothing to me, and I  _ do not care _ .”

He watched her walk away. He watched as her shoulders sagged, he watched every single step she took down that gods forsaken hallway. He did not have it in him to run after her. He did not want to acknowledge what he had said to the girl. He did not want to yield to the knowledge that all the warmth he had been feeling over the past weeks had been extinguished. 

He did not say a word to Gavriel, instead he walked towards his work table, picked up his tools and continued tattooing. 

With every tap of the needle, his words to the girl echoed in his mind. 

_ There is nothing that I can give you.  _

_ Nothing I want to give you.  _

_ You are nothing to me.  _

_ I do not care.  _

Lies. Such lies, because deep down he knew she was something to him and the feeling of regret was proof enough for his mind that his heart did care. 

\- - - - - - -

Gavriel broke the reigning silence during a small break over the stew, “Rowan, I have known you a long time and I have never known you to be purposefully cruel towards an innocent. That girl did not deserve to hear what you said to her. She is alone and scared.  I’m not certain who that girl is or what Maeve’s plans are with her, but I know that she is an Ashryver.”

Surprise lined his face, how had Gavriel known?

“I never told a soul, but when Maeve had me in Wendlyn, I fell in love with a girl. An Ashryver.  You tattooed her here, so trust me when I say that I would recognize those eyes anywhere.”

He remembered that tattoo. Over the centuries Gavriel had learned to keep his lover's secret, every single time he had gotten close to one, gotten a taste of normalcy, Meave would order him to end the relationship. But over his heart he had tattooed not a name but a promise, a remembrance to love. It had been over twenty years ago, he remembered not because of what he tattooed, no it was how Gavriel had mourned that particular loss. It was how the lion had softened over the past two decades that told him more than Gavriel's words ever could. 

“It was ironic that a seventeen year old girl taught me how to love. She changed me, healed me and then let me go. She knew who I was and who I served. I initially thought that she had left me for another, but years later I learned that was not the case, she never married. I’ll never know why she suddenly pushed me away. And then she died. When she died all hope died with me, but her love remained.”

Rowan understood that loss, he had been surround by the frozen darkness of that loss for centuries. He wished he had comforting words for his friend, but after two centuries he had learned absolutely nothing. 

He continued to silently tattoo the names of the fallen.

He listened as Gavriel mourned the loss of his soldiers.  He had been right, the girl did not deserve the way he treated her. Even if it was the truth, even if he had no male honor because e failed to protect his mate and child, she did not deserve those words. It was his fault that he chose glory over their lives. It was not her fault that she could not see that he did not deserve to be anything to anyone. 

He finished the tattoo in the wake of the morning light. He wished this would be the last, but he knew it would not be. He walked with Gavriel to the border of the fortress.

His companion gave him a look he had rarely seen, a look normally reserved for Fenrys and he knew that the male before him was going to give his lost soul guidance like a father would to his son. A son that none of them would ever have. 

“Rowan, let go. What is between you and the girl, don't try to control it. Don't try to define it, just let it be. She's the first person to reach you, let her.

Gavriel paused, “If I could go back, I would have just lived with the time the gods had given me. I would not have worried about the future. I would not have regretted the past. I would have had no expectations, no titles, no assumptions. I would have just live in every moment I had been blessed with her. Learn from my mistake, learn from your past mistakes.”

“How did you not let it ruin you?”

The tawny eyed male knew what he meant, he may not have lost a mate, but loss is loss. 

“I can't go back, I can't change it, it was a gift to have known her, to have been loved by her, if I sit in the darkness of my loss, I discredit her memory, I reject the love she gave me. Even when I feel that I did not deserve that love.” 

Gavriel paused. He saw the flicker of regret before he said, “Just live, let her teach you how how to live with what time the gods grant you.”

And with that Gavriel left him to his thoughts of a girl who sparked an ember of light into his darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so very sorry. Please don’t stop loving me.


	15. The Prince of Deliverance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 15 of The Prince of Ice series, a retelling of Heir of Fire from Rowan’s point of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When reading this remember that Rowan is lost. He was already having a hard time with his newly found feelings, to the point that he snapped. He does not know what he feels for the girl and that scares the rutting hell out of him. Remember sometimes in life, not feeling is easier and the climb out of that pit is hell. At this point he is battling the choice to climb.

For weeks his emotions had been a jumbled mess. He was on a pendulum, from tearing her to shreds and then rescuing her. At one point he bit the girl and then smiled a true smile for the first time in centuries. 

That damn girl. 

However the past weeks were nothing in comparison to the past twelve hours. Significant words had been said both to him and by him and each one shook him to his very core. The lion and the old man had seen something in the girl. Everyone seemed to have seen something past the spoiled cowardly princess he saw. 

He did not seek out the girl, maybe he was a coward, but he needed time and all they would do was scream. He paced the fortress grounds. He could not filter the cacophony of words racing through his mind. 

_ Hope. You just left me. let go. Ashryver. Discredit her. Love. There is nothing that I can give you. Abandoned. Thank you for saving me. Coward. Nothing I want to give you. Carranam. Destroyed. Because I made a promise. A promise to my friend that I would see her kingdom freed. Princess. You are nothing to me. Perhaps Deanna and Mala weren’t always rivals. Prince. I do not care. Because she is dead, and I am left with my worthless life! Oh, you’d better run now. Know exactly how it’s done. Assassin. Lyria. Aelin. Just live. A better world. _

His body brought him to the ruins of the temple. He felt a warmth that he had not felt since the skinwalkers. He kneeled towards the sun and before he could even utter a prayer, his mind started to focus as the wind whispered,  _ Let go. _

He was so sure he knew the message Gavriel was trying to give him during the early hours of the morning, but now he questioned what Gavriel meant. Did he mean to let go of his past or his need for control? Maybe both, as they were now intertwined. 

He could let go of the pain, for himself, for Lyria, for the girl, he could let go. 

_ She's the first person to reach you, let her. _

The lion was right, she had somehow reached him. If he let go, if he released the control he had, would she pull him out of the darkness? Did he deserve it? Could he live outside the darkness? 

He almost laughed, the prince of ice and wind prayed to the goddess of sunlight and fire. Even in his prayers he turned to a source of light. 

He would learn to let go.

_ If I sit in the darkness of my loss, I discredit her memory, I reject the love she gave me. _

Was he disgracing the love Lyria had for him? He knew she would hate what he had become. Even with his failure, she would have never wanted this life for him. This was not even a life, this was survival. 

He had spent years focused on his shame. Wanting to shoulder the pain and the scars as proof that he was paying for the sins he'd committed. In his payment he was discrediting her love of him.

_ No expectations, no titles, no assumptions. _

All of these ideals were getting in the way. He had expectations and was disappointed every single time she failed to meet them. So he pushed her harder, pushed her down. 

He grew frustrated with the princess. He expected her to behave like a princess. In the end it was only a title, not who she was. She stopped being a princess ten years ago when her kingdom fell on its knees to a bastard king. 

He held back because he was bloodsworn, a commander, a prince. 

The other title he feared for what it meant. His magic was attracted to that wildfire, danced in his veins every time she used it. He knew the bond they shared, but for now they didn't need it. He needed to train her before they reached that point. They needed to trust each other.

He had made assumptions about the girl, never asking her. He assumed he knew what her life had been. Never questioning what in her past inhibited her growth and fed her fears. Never questioning the scars or what hell she survived to get them.

He also needed to let go of the expectations, titles, and assumptions.

_ She has no hope left in her heart. _

Hope. How could the girl have lost all hope? The girl was hope. For two centuries he had survived in darkness. He wandered day by day alone filling his Queen’s wishes, spinning her webs. In that time he had come across countless mortals and immortals, none had cracked through the darkness that surrounded him.

Then she came and started to cracked through his walls in a day. That was half the reason he hated her. 

The little people had known, had blessed her. The old man had known and supported her. The lion had seen something as well. 

Mala had guided him to her, for him to save her from a death at the hands of the skinwalkers. 

And Maeve. She wanted something from the girl, needed something. Anyone aside from Lorcan could have trained the girl, why him? 

Carranam. His aunt knew that they were Carranam.

If he and Lorcan could level a city, what could they do when they were magically bound?

The winds whispered,  _ A better world. _

He silently dreamed of a better world. A place where innocents did not suffer, a world where warriors like himself were not needed. He prayed to the gods that had forsaken them for a world that was not dark and cruel.

They could forge a better world. She could wield the fire of that forging. He could give her the skills necessary to forge that world.

A warmth he had never felt before flooded his body. He silently thanked the goddess, he had no doubt that the goddess had guided the words whispered to the winds.

\- - - - - - -

He needed to find Luca. It was a crazy idea, but it could work. They were beyond the normal master-disciple training saga, crazy was all he had left. 

The boy’s sad eyes told him enough, “Do you think she doesn't really care?”

She had saved them from the skinwalkers. She made a friend a promise and she would go to her death if it meant fulfilling it. She ensured that they burned the body of a nameless Demi-fae. She glowed at the healers compound. She broke through a barrier that scared her in the hope to learn more about the creature killing others. 

“No, I think she cares too much.”

He looked at the young Demi-fae, broken and rejected because he was not what his kind viewed as pure. Rejected by his mother and her peoples because he was part monster. 

_ Help her. If not for her sake, then at least for what she represents – what she could offer all of us, you included. _

A better world, for not only him, but those like Luca. Demi-fae that bore scars, their sole sin was being conceived. 

He needed to know what happened in that kitchen, what caused an old man to speak out and a boy to grieve, “What happened?”

Luca told him everything in great detail. Did he always talk this much?

_ You are nothing to me. I do not care.  _

And there it was, those words. It was then that he knew, they were of the same damaged ilk. He did this, he caused her to snap.

“How do we help her?”

“I have an idea, and you will not like it.” 

He explained his idea to Luca. She had control, at least some when another life was at risk. If Luca said no, he would need another plan. 

“So let me get this right, freezing me to a lake in chains is going to help her?”

“She'll need to use her powers to free you from the lake.”

“I'll help.”

He internally smiled as they gathered supplies and the boy followed him to the cave. 

He no longer needed to walk the world alone. He knew he would always belong to Maeve, but he could be that catalyst the world needed. He could help the source that would light the world for a better one. He could help rebuild the world with hope instead of covering killing fields in blood. And maybe, just maybe he could be proud of the role he would play.

And if in answer, the winds around him whispered a name.  _ Fireheart _ .


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 16 of The Prince of Ice series, a retelling of Heir of Fire from Rowan’s point of view.
> 
> A/N: I’m skipping the play by play of the Lake Monster Chapter, I’m stuck on it and honestly I want to finish this POV. Instead this is a little self reflection after the days events and washing dishes.  

 

He sat at his work table warring against the day's events. Ever since he found her drunk on a rooftop, his life had been turned upside down.

He did not know how to reconcile the foreign feeling growing in his gut, one he had not experienced for two hundred three years and twenty-seven days, the desire, no the need to protect. To prove to himself, to relieve the shame he felt as a male. To mitigate his failure. 

And he had almost failed again. It took all his concentration to keep the lake frozen, to reforge the escape path. It would have been his failure if. . . He shook his head of those thoughts. 

He winced as the shirt cuff brushed against his wrist, it was a pain he deserved. His shame was written from his face to his wrist. He did not know if it was ironic or foretelling that she had burned the last line of his declaration to the world. That he would need to tattoo the lines again because he had failed her, left an unfamiliar ache in his gut. 

Gods be damned. This girl. 

_ No one else. Because I am sick of it. Worth more dead.  _

_ No one else.  _

There was more to her reaction.  _ Because I am sick of it.  _ She would have been eight when her parents were assassinated in their bed. The rumors had always been that the entire royal family was slaughtered in their beds. Those that survived the initial slaughter were killed in the following days. Terrasen had held out for a few weeks, but eventually their army fell. The rumors said the princess died in the river during her attempt to escape, but in the taverns and lonely roads her people still whispered to the winds that their Queen would return. Aelin of the Wildfire. 

_ Because I didn’t want you to die to save me. _

He would never forget her proclamation that Aelin Galathynius was dead. When he looked into her eyes he believed her proclamation. How many had died to ensure their queen lived? What sacrifice was made? Of whom? What made her cringe every time she heard her name? How the rutty hell did she make it to Adarlan, to an assassins guild?  

_ Reminding me again and again how rutting worthless and awful and cowardly I am. _

Ten years, for ten years he flowed from form to form. His body survived. For ten years she survived, but maybe like him just her body. Maybe like him, she could never bring herself to end it. But unlike him, because if she ended it, their sacrifice would have been in vain. 

_ I have no one left. No one.  _

And there it was, they were two souls, lost to an abyss of darkness, alone. So damn alone. But unlike him, an eight year old girl did not deserve the fate handed to her. 

He did not hate her, he hated that she forced him to feel. He hated to see her dead eyes every day. He hated that the world turned against a little girl that dreamed to become a healer and instead she became a killer. He hated that no matter how hard he tried, her blood sang to him. He hated that she was likely his carranam and together they could change the world. 

_ She has no hope left in her heart. _

Hope. They needed hope. 

Maybe, just maybe they could find a way out of the darkness together. 


	17. The Prince of Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 17 of The Prince of Ice series, a retelling of Heir of Fire from Rowan’s point of view. 
> 
> A/N: My mate, my beautiful mate and you are the first person that has me want to climb out of the darkness

He could hear her approaching. For all his internal conversations today, the conversations with the old man, the fight with Aelin, the hope, her approach agitated him.  

And he understood why. He was angry with her for losing hope, for leaving her people, and forsaking her duty to protect.

“What?”

She opened the door and just stared at him like this was the first time she actually looked at him, saw him. 

“What do you want?” 

“I thought you might want this.” 

She tossed the tin of healing salve he had given her that first day. He almost laughed at the reversal of their situation. 

“I deserved it.” And he did, he almost failed to protect her. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t feel bad.” 

Turned the tin in his hand. For her hard exterior under it was a heart. 

“Is this a bribe?” 

“Give it back, if you’re going to be a pain in my ass.” 

“You could heal yourself, you know. Heal me, too. Nothing major, but you have that gift.”

“It’s—it’s the drop of water affinity I inherited from Mab’s line.” 

“My mother told me that the drop of water in my magic was my salvation—and sense of self-preservation.” 

“I wanted to learn to use it like the other healers—long ago, I mean. But never was allowed to. They said … well, it wouldn’t be all that useful, since I didn’t have much of it, and Queens don’t become healers.”  

He was reminded that she was once a little girl that dreamed, and not to become a queen, but to be a healer. Like himself she was raised for a position, what they wanted did not matter, they had a larger responsibility than their dreams. He looked at her hands, the promise she had made to free a kingdom. 

Until now he had no idea how to give a person hope, to free a kingdom to keep her word she would need to train. He could help her become a warrior of legends. Greater than an assassin. 

“Go to bed. Since you’re banned from the kitchen tomorrow, we’re training at dawn.” 

That look of helplessness slammed into him, that longing. 

_ She has no hope left in her heart. _

“Wait. Shut the door.” 

There was something else he could give her, understanding. He could not look at her, he could not handle the pity she would give him, but he could tell her. 

“When my mate died, it took me a very, very long time to come back.” 

“How long ago?” 

Her voice said it all, she understood what it meant to lose a mate. 

“Two hundred three years, twenty-seven days ago.” 

He turned towards her, waving his hand towards his tattoo. 

“This tells the story of how it happened. Of the shame I’ll carry until my last breath.” 

She was not alone in the shame she felt, this is how he could give her hope.

“Others come to you to have their own grief and shame tattooed on them.” 

“Gavriel lost three of his soldiers in an ambush in the southern mountains. They were slaughtered. He survived. For as long as he’s been a warrior, he’s tattooed himself with the names of those under his command who have fallen. But where the blame lies has little to do with the point of the markings.” 

“Were you to blame?” 

He was surprised by her question, he felt it was an obvious answer, but to her it was not. 

“Yes. When I was young, I was … ferocious in my efforts to win valor for myself and my bloodline. Wherever Maeve sent me on campaigns, I went. Along the way, I mated a female of our race. Lyria,” 

“She sold flowers in the market in Doranelle. Maeve disapproved, but … when you meet your mate, there is nothing you can do to alter it. She was mine, and no one could tell me otherwise. Mating her cost me Maeve’s favor, and I still yearned so badly to prove myself. So when war came calling and Maeve offered me a chance to redeem myself, I took it. Lyria begged me not to go. But I was so arrogant, so misguided, that I left her at our mountain home and went off to war. I left her alone,” 

“I was gone for months, winning all that glory I so foolishly sought. And then we got word that our enemies had been secretly trying to gain entrance to Doranelle through the mountain passes.” 

“I flew home. As fast as I’d ever flown. When I got there, I found that … found she had been with child. And they had slaughtered her anyway, and burnt our house to cinders. 

“When you lose a mate, you don’t …” 

He took a deep breath, remembering those first years, the sudden loss, the despair, the hopelessness. 

“I lost all sense of self, of time and place. I hunted them down, all the males who hurt her. I took a long while killing them. She was pregnant—had been pregnant since I’d left her. But I’d been so enamored with my own foolish agenda that I hadn’t scented it on her. I left my pregnant mate alone.” 

Recognition flooded her eyes, she understood the words she had said to him had caused him to snap. 

“What did you do after you killed them?” 

“For ten years, I did nothing. I vanished. I went mad. Beyond mad. I felt nothing at all. I just … left. I wandered the world, in and out of my forms, hardly marking the seasons, eating only when my hawk told me it needed to feed or it would die. I would have let myself die—except I … couldn’t bring myself …” 

“I might have stayed that way forever, but Maeve tracked me down. She said it was enough time spent in mourning, and that I was to serve her as prince and commander—to work with a handful of other warriors to protect the realm. It was the first time I had spoken to anyone since that day I found Lyria. The first time I’d heard my name—or remembered it.” 

“So you went with her?” 

“I had nothing. No one. At that point, I hoped serving her might get me killed, and then I could see Lyria again. So when I returned to Doranelle, I wrote the story of my shame on my flesh. And then I bound myself to Maeve with the blood oath, and have served her since.” 

She looked at him like he held the answers to the world. THe answers she needed. 

“How—how did you come back from that kind of loss?” 

He thought for a second, was he back? Functioning yes, but back from that dark frozen abyss? The nightmares plagued him nightly. He alienated his family. Lorcan and Gavriel were the closest fae he could consider a friend. 

“I didn’t. For a long while I couldn’t. I think I’m still … not back. I might never be.” 

He did not even know where to start, what it would mean to be back. No one had understood that loss, not until this girl. This girl had loss her parents, kingdom, a friend and a lover. She had no one left. Hope, she was not the only one that needed hope. She made him feel, unlocked the feelings he had frozen within himself. Somehow this girl was his hope, deep down he cared more for her than he should. 

_ There is nothing that I can give you.  _

_ Nothing I want to give you.  _

_ You are nothing to me.  _

_ I do not care.  _

Lies. Such lies, because deep down he knew she was something to him. Since the first time she stuck her tongue out at him, he knew that somehow this girl was his hope, deep down he cared more for her than he should. His ice danced with her fire, underneath it all there was a yearning his magic refused to reject. 

“But maybe . . . maybe we could find the way back together.” 

“I think, I would like that very much.” 

“Together, then.” 

“Together.” 

And somewhere far and deep inside him, the ice began to crack. 


	18. The Princess of Secrets [Ch.18]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 18 of The Prince of Ice series, a retelling of Heir of Fire from Rowan’s point of view.
> 
> A/N: I am officially half way there of my planned 36 chapters. I burned bacon because I was so enthralled in writing this chapter. To me this is the turning point. The tattoo apprentice and the princess of secrets (c38.p335)
> 
> A special thanks to @rowan-buzzard-whitethorn a.k.a @loopymoony for the inspiration of the very last line.

 

 

He winced in pain, that last tap was a little deeper than necessary. 

If someone had told him three days ago that Aelin would be in his room he would have laughed. If they had told him that they would not be trying to kill each other, he would have thought that person senile. If they had told him that he would feel lighter and calmed by her scent he would have walked them to the healing compound. But here he was sitting at his work table, talking with Aelin. 

She had burned away a piece of his tattoo, the final piece that told the world he would feel his shame until his last breath. He did not want to think what that meant, that she had burned it away. The girl that had stirred feelings other than grief and shame, in him for the first time in over two hundred years. 

“Tell me about how you learned to tattoo.” 

“No.” He was too busy self reflecting to have a sharing moment. 

“If you don’t answer my questions, I might very well make a mistake, and…” 

He held back his laugh. The look in her eyes said she might have caught his slip. 

“Did you learn from someone? Master and apprentice and all that?” 

He gave her a rather incredulous look. 

“Yes, master and apprentice and all that. In the war camps, we had a commander who used to tattoo the number of enemies he’d killed on his flesh—sometimes he’d write the whole story of a battle. All the young soldiers were enamored of it, and I convinced him to teach me.” 

“With that legendary charm of yours, I suppose.” 

He could not help but smile, even if it was just a half of one. 

“Just fill in the spots where I—” He hissed through the pain. 

“Good. That’s the right depth.” 

With the rhythm of her tapping, he return to his introspective thoughts. 

“Tell me about your family.” 

He did not want to, his endless family that had somehow even now not given up on him. That level of love did not settle well within him, he had lost the right to be loved. 

_ Maybe we could find the way back together _

She needed this, her family was dead, what was left were distant cousins. 

“Tell me about yours and I’ll tell you about mine,” he said through gritted teeth. 

He waited for her response, her agreement to his terms. If they were going to do this together than they would have to bare their entire souls and the scars that ran beneath the surface. 

“Fine. Are your parents alive?” 

“My parents were very old when they conceived me. I was their only child in the millennia they’d been mated. They faded into the Afterworld before I reached my second decade.” 

He could not remember if she had siblings. 

“You had no siblings.” 

She did not look at him as she began to speak, “My mother, thanks to her Fae heritage, had a difficult time with the pregnancy. She stopped breathing during labor. They said it was my father’s will that kept her tethered to this world. I don’t know if she even could have conceived again after that. So, no siblings. But—” 

He waited, letting her decide if she wanted to continue that statement. 

“But I had a cousin. He was five years older than me, and we fought and loved each other like siblings.” 

She set down the needle and mallet and flex her fingers. He could tell that she hurt. 

“I don’t know what happened, but they started saying his name—as a skilled general in the king’s army.”

He had heard of the general, the winds whispered back to Maeve of the general’s fame. The Wolf of the North also known as Ardarlan’s whore was her cousin. He should have known. 

“I think facing my cousin after everything would be the worst of it—worse than facing the king.” 

He watched as her grief threatened to overwhelm her. 

“Keep working,” 

Two children broken along with a kingdom. One became an assassin, while the other a general for his enemy. For the first time he had wondered what drove them. 

“Do you think, your cousin would kill you or help you? An army like his could change the tide of any war.” 

His army was said to be ruthless, though he had known that, now he could connect the stars. Revenge is what fed the Wolf of the North. 

“I don’t know what he would think of me, or where his loyalties lie. And I’d rather not know. Ever.” 

He hoped that one day Aelin would know that her cousin’s loyalty had never faded. 

“Do you have cousins?” 

He almost laughed, “Too many. Mora’s line was always the most widespread, and my meddlesome, gossiping cousins make my visits to Doranelle … irksome. You’d probably get along with my cousins, especially with the snooping.” 

He could not help but picture Sellene and Aelin scheming together. 

“You’re one to talk, Prince. I’ve never been asked so many questions in my life.” 

He bared his teeth, though he didn’t mean it. He glanced at his wrist, for the first time he did not want to lament on the meaning. The burns had healed, but there was a slight scarring that would never fade. He would always know that at some level she had burned away a little piece of his shame. 

“Hurry up, Princess. I want to go to bed at some point before dawn.” 

She used her free hand to make a particularly vulgar gesture, and before he thought about it he caught her hand within his own. Like her gesture, her small hands were not that of a queen. 

“That is not very queenly.” 

“Then it’s good I’m not a queen, isn’t it?” 

Everything in his being told him to not let go of her hand.  _ Together. _

She feared being a queen and it was not something he understood. 

“You have sworn to free your friend’s kingdom and save the world—but will not even consider your own lands. What scares you about seizing your birthright? The king? Facing what remains of your court?” 

He stared into her blue eyes rimmed in the most beautiful gold. 

“Give me one good reason why you won’t take back your throne. One good reason, and I’ll keep my mouth shut about it.” 

She weighed him, understood the question was not meant to be cruel, but sincere. He wanted, no needed to understand why. 

“Because if I free Eyllwe and destroy the king as Celaena, I can go anywhere after that. The crown … my crown is just another set of shackles.” 

Shackles? 

He quietly said, “What do you mean, another set of shackles?” 

He loosened his grip to reveal the two thin bands of scars that wrapped around her wrist. His mouth tightened, she had been shackled. In some point within her ten years, she had been shackled. 

She yanked her wrist back hard enough that he let go. He looked at her, waiting for an explanation. 

“Nothing, Arobynn, my master, liked to use them for training every now and then.” 

He knew she was lying, there was a deeper hurt buried within her. A truth she was not ready to share. He would give her the time and space she needed. He held back a shudder of Arobynn being her master. A young queen of a mighty kingdom turned to an assassin. 

“Why did you stay with Arobynn?” 

“I knew I wanted two things: First, to disappear from the world and from my enemies, but … ah.” 

He wanted to recapture that hand he held. 

“I wanted to hide from myself, mostly. I convinced myself I should disappear, because the second thing I wanted, even then, was to be able to someday … hurt people the way I had been hurt. And it turned out that I was very, very good at it. 

“If he had tossed me away, I would either have died or wound up with the rebels. If I had grown up with them, I probably would have been found by the king and slaughtered. Or I would have grown up so hateful that I would have been killing Adarlanian soldiers from a young age.” 

She surprised him, the girl that wanted to become a healer changed to a person who wanted to hurt. Somehow she had bottled that desire for vengeance away. 

“You thought I was just going to spread my whole history at your feet the moment I met you? I’m sure you have even more stories than I do, so stop looking so surprised. Maybe we should just go back to beating each other into a pulp.” 

There was no way he was turning back now. Together, they would fight through the darkness together. He would train her to become a warrior. He may not be able to fight with her, but he would give her every tool to protect herself when he could not. They would do this together. 

“Oh, not a chance, Princess. You can tell me what you want, when you want, but there’s no going back now.” 

“I’m sure your other friends just adore having you around.” 

A feral smile, and he grabbed her by the chin—not hard enough to hurt, but to get her to look at him. 

“First thing, we’re not friends. I’m still training you, and that means you’re still under my command.”

Lies. He watched the flicker of hurt. He leaned in closer, hoping she would understand. 

“Second—whatever we are, whatever this is? I’m still figuring it out, too. So if I’m going to give you the space you deserve to sort yourself out, then you can damn well give it to me.” 

She studied him for a moment, the ice danced in his veins. 

“Deal.”

As he removed his hand, he knew that whatever this was, he didn't want to let her go.

  
  



	19. Chapter 19

“I assume you brought me here so I could practice?” She chucked the apple core across the field and rubbed at her shoulder. 

In the weeks since they had started this journey, he had been looking forward to this night. Beltane was her night. A night of fire and dreams. 

“Ignite them, and keep the fires controlled and even all night.” 

“All three.” It was not a question.

“Keep the end ones low for the jumpers. The middle one should be scorching the clouds.” 

She looked at him with a slight fear in her eyes. She had just begun to master her powers, but she still needed to master control. 

“This could easily turn lethal.” 

He lifted a hand and allowed the wind to stir around her. He could not help the glee he felt, tonight their magic could work together. 

“I’ll be here.” 

“And if I somehow still manage to turn someone into a living torch?” 

He smiled, though the smile was lost on her. 

“Then it’s a good thing the healers are also here to celebrate.” 

She gave him a dirty look and rolled her shoulders. “When do you want to start?”  

“Now.” 

He stood with her, watching and guiding her. He watched the sweat roll down her neck.  She was beginning to lose control, “Easy.”

“I know.”

His magic was dancing along his bones.

“When can I stop?” 

Her flames had also evolved in the past weeks. What started as blue now was a range of colors from the brightest rubies to the darkest sapphires. 

“When I say so.” 

He was amazed, the well of power she had rivaled his. She just needed to learn how to control the power. They had the opposite problem of most fae. The strength they had to possess was to control the power from destroying everything around them. He remembered his early lessons, how he felt like a failure when he could not easily control his powers like his cousins. His favorite tutor once told him that learning control over his powers was like as damming a mighty river instead of damming a trickling stream. 

“I’m sweating to death, I’m starving, and I want a break.” 

He held back a laugh. 

“Resorting to whining?” 

He sent a cool breeze and immediately regretted the move when the moan that escaped her went straight to his cock. Gods be damned, she was beautiful. He had known by the number of males he had to chase away, but in this moment he saw the woman she was becoming. It was bad enough that his magic betrayed him when it came to her, he was uncertain if he could handle it if his body betrayed him as well. Boundaries, they needed boundaries.

“Just a little while longer.” 

He was torn between sending another chilled wind in the hopes of hearing another sweet moan from her or…

He watched as her flames change, the change almost took his breath away. She could not lite a single candle, but she just unlocked shaping her flames. 

“Easy.”

That is when he noticed the flames matched the beat of the music. 

“Music. That day on the ice, you were humming.” 

He hoped he was on to something. He would sing during her lessons if it help her progress.

“Let the music steady you.” 

He let out a breath, the change was remarkable, “Easy.” 

He felt pride and could not pull his eyes from the flames, he could feel the music through the heat of the flames. He mindlessly reminder her, “Steady.” 

He felt the pull on his magic, a trance requesting a dance. He looked at her and realized that she was losing control. 

He felt his heart pound against his rib cage. 

“That’s enough for now.” 

He reached out for her and immediately let go, she was burning from within. 

“That is enough.” 

Slowly, too slowly, she looked at him. The blue in her eyes were gone, in its place was the golden flames. She looked away, returning to her flames. 

“Look at me,” 

He could not touch her. He wanted to pull her away. 

“Look at me.” 

She would not look at him, could not. 

“Let the fires burn on their own.” 

His breath stopped when she finally looked at him. His nostrils flared with the panic he felt. 

“Aelin, stop right now.” 

She was burning from the inside out. She needed to let go, reign her power back in. 

He pleaded with her, “Let go.” 

He pushed his magic towards her, trying to cool her. He had not planned on this, he started the long spiral into his magic. 

“If you don’t let go, you are going to burn out completely.” 

He could not process the look of relief on her face. Didn't want to understand it's meaning.

“You are on the verge of roasting yourself from the inside out,” 

The fires started to surge, in that moment he knew he was out of options. 

“I’m sorry.”

He was born with the ability to control wind. It was the ability he hated the most, the ability to deplete air, to suffocate his enemies. He warred with his instinct not to harm her as he broke the teather. 

He held back the bile in his throat.

“Breathe. Breathe.” 

He ran towards the group of revelers, screaming for a healer. Hoping that they were not too drunk to help. Two came forward. 

“Can you stand to carry her? There aren’t any water-wielders here, and we need to get her into cold water. Now.” 

He created a shield of ice around him as he picked her up. 

He could not fail. He could not fail again. They were going to climb out of that dark abyss together. 

He ran for the bath house, trying not to jostle her. Listening to her ragged breaths, hoping they were not too late. 

He wanted to drop to his knees when she felt her breathing ease. 

“Get her into the water.” 

He lowered into the water as one of the healers swore.

“Freeze it, Prince, now” What the ruddy gods did she think he was trying to do? Boil it?

He did not have time to be amazed as her power overwhelmed his and watched the water begin to boil. 

“Get her out!” 

He pulled her out and went to the next tub. He could not directly fight her fire. 

He took a breath and let his magic pushed against hers, starting a dance that could save and damn them both. He wondered if this is what the bond was meant to be, not the perversion that he had seen over the centuries. A partnership built on trust, but she had not trusted him. 

Deep within her magic trusted his and his trusted hers.

He would not lose her. He could not lose her. He would fight with every fiber of his will. 

“Breathe, let it go—let it get out of you.” 

He let her magic pull at his as she took a breath. 

“Good.” 

Their magic was like the ebb and flow of the tide, the bath froze, then melted, froze, then melted, slower each time. Eventually the water was warm as their magic found an equilibrium. 

He was pulled from the dance of fire and ice with the voice of one of the healers, “We need to get those clothes off her.” 

He looked away as the healers stripped off her clothes. She had almost burned out completely. 

He continued allowing their magics to dance. Fire and Ice. Embers and Frost. He would not lose her, not to this. Together they would fight this burn out.  _ Together.  _

“Just answer yes or no. That’s all you have to do.” 

She managed a slight nod, though she winced with pain. 

“Are you in danger of flaring up again?” 

“No,” she whispered. 

“Are you in pain?” 

“Yes.” 

“We will prepare a tonic. Just keep her cool.” 

He found a bucket across the room, filled it with water. With little effort he brought it close to freezing. How could he have missed the signs? 

“The burnout, you should have told me you were at your limit.” 

He wrung the cloth over her brow as he continued to cool the bath water.  

“If you’d gone on any longer, the burnout would have destroyed you. You must learn to recognize the signs—and how to pull back before it’s too late.” 

He could have lost her. 

“It will rip you apart inside. Make this …” 

He shook his head again, unable to finish the sentence. “Make this look like nothing. You don’t touch your magic until you’ve rested for a while. Understand?” 

She tilted her head, beckoning for more cold water but he waited until she nodded her agreement. 

They sat in silence. They had stopped the dance between their magic. He needed to move, needed to do something. 

“I’m going to check on the tonic. I’ll be back soon.” 

He walked out of the baths and sank against the wall. 

Gods be damned. She had almost burned out. Bile rose in his throat at the thought. He could not, would not swallow it down. He bent over to empty his stomach. 

She had almost burned out. He had almost lost the sliver of hope she gave him. The companionship without judgement. 

He wiped his mouth clean and walked towards the infirmary. 

He barely felt as one of the healers stripped off his shirt. He was grateful she did not talk to him while she worked on the burns. When she finished she handed him a tonic for the pain. 

“We’re still working on the stronger pain tonic, we’ll bring it over once it is done.”

He nodded his thanks. He was in a daze as he walked to his room for a shirt then mindlessly walked to the bath house. 

He had almost failed her. Again. 

He opened the door to the bath house and instantly felt relief when he had noticed she moved. That relief vanished when he noticed her back. 

He felt his heart stop and his mind went blank. 

It took a moment for his thoughts to realize what he was seeing. To stop his movements. For his breath to catch. 

Of all his whippings, hers were worse. 

He fought his territorial rage. He wanted to roar and tear the room apart. 

“Who did that do you?”

He would kill whoever had done that to her. 

“A lot of people. I spent some time in the Salt Mines of Endovier.”

_ Another set of shackles. _

He silenced the roaring in his mind. Even this far away he knew what the salt mines were. A slow death sentence. 

_ An assassin with Ashryver eyes was spotted by the horned Lord of the North in a wagon bound for -- _

Maeve had known. 

“How long?” 

Could not be long, no one survived long. 

“A year. I was there a year before … it’s a long story.” 

A year. She survived a year as a slave. 

“You were a slave.” 

He had not meant to say that aloud but she gave him a slow nod in response. 

He opened his mouth, but shut it and swallowed.

What could he say?  How did this happen?  How did she survive? 

He turned on his heel and shut the door behind him. 

As he shifted, he felt a rage he had not felt since that day two hundred three years, forty-one days ago. Something deep in him had awoken.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a girl, always just a girl fighting against the world (p353).
> 
> I wrote this listening to “Rise Up” by Andra Day. One thing you have to remember about grief is that there are good days and bad days, but mostly bad days. The bad days there is little hope in your life, you mostly just go through the motions. The thing about grief is the people in your life will ask how you are doing, and you will tell them that they are fine. Not because you are, but because you know that if you are honest that your people will try to help. That attempt will hurt you worse than the lie that you are fine.
> 
> Then one day, you will wake up and want to move forward, but you will have little idea how to take that step. Once you start making those steps you will feel guilty. Survivor's guilt is one of the hardest road blocks you will overcome. I am trying to capture that mental battle Rowan is going through.

 

 

He laid across his bed, trying to lie as far away from her as he could. He wanted to lie to himself. Gods be damned it would be so easy to lie to himself. He had no right to uncover the feelings he was starting to feel. Not after Lyria. Not after he had failed her so thoroughly. Not after he had almost failed Aelin. Her burn out, her  _ almost _ burn out had caused the territorial portion of his soul to reawaken. 

He had selected her room based on his assumption of the spoiled bratty girl he believed her to be. The rag of a blanket left in the small room was more than that she would have been given. He has selected her chores based on the same thought. No wonder she did not argue about becoming a scullery maid, compared to being a slave it was nothing. The hours she chopped wood, an effective motivational punishment he had used for centuries, was nothing after spending a year swinging a pickaxe. 

“You’re staying with me from now on.” He did not know what made him say that, there were spare rooms, better rooms. Deep down something in him was calling to him to keep her close. 

“The bed is for tonight. Tomorrow, you’ll get a cot. You’ll clean up after yourself or you’ll be back in that room.” 

He watched as she nestled into her pillow, like it was the first comfort she had felt in months. The thought that this princess felt gratitude and appreciation for a simple pillow— he chased that very thought away. 

“Very well.” 

Silence enveloped them, and he welcomed it. He needed time to sort through the last hours, to retrospectively look at the last few months. 

She pulled him from the welcomed silence, “I don’t want your pity.” 

He did not know if he had the strength for this. He was trying to reach out to her, to take a step out of the darkness. His kindness was not selfless, no quite the opposite. It was far from pity. 

“This is not pity. Maeve decided not to tell me what happened to you. You have to know that I—I wasn’t aware you had—” 

He was the strongest fae male in existence. The closest to him was Lorcan and really a fight between them would come down to who wanted it more. He had nothing to fight for, nothing but the peace that his death would bring. But here was this girl, this lost queen, with the power to break him so thoroughly that he would not even put up a fight to any killing blow. 

He allowed his arrogance and pride, he allowed the ice that covered his heart to treat her—

He almost crumbled when he felt her arm slide across the bed. She was reaching for him, with everything he had done to her, she was reaching out to him to comfort him. 

“I knew. At first, I was afraid you’d mock me if I told you, and I would kill you for it. Then I didn’t want you to pity me. And more than any of that, I didn’t want you to think it was ever an excuse.” 

She was right, he would have treated her differently if he had known. Maybe they would not have wasted these past months. Or maybe it would not have changed a thing. Sometimes he felt like he was awakening from a very long nightmare. 

“Like a good soldier,” he watched as she look away for a moment.

He took a long breath that made his broad chest expand. Together. He had promised her together. She was the first person to reach him, the first person that made him want to leave the dark abyss of frozen ice he had surrounded himself with. The first person he wanted to reach towards. He knew he had a long way to go, in these centuries he was past the grieving, but he had not made it further. He was surviving and did not know how to live without her. Without them. 

“Tell me how you were sent there—and how you got out.” 

He had expected a short answer, but it seemed like he had gained enough of her trust for her to tell him her story, at least parts of it. 

He listened as she told him about her time in Rifthold, about the dance and music lessons she would have had even if the fates had not been cruel to her. As a crowned princess, she would have had to suffer through the same dance lessons he did as a child. 

Instead of training with poisons and torture, would her father or her King’s captain still trained her in combat?

As she told him about stealing Asterion horses and racing across the desert, he wondered what his life would have been if he had not been in the market that day. If that fateful day had not happened to Aelin, if instead of stealing an Asterion horse, would there be story of her running off with her cousin Aedion on their Asterion horses. 

Her story about Sam, made him wonder if he was the male he had tasted on her blood or if there was yet another loss she was about to tell him about. She had almost escaped the fate of an assassin, almost found a piece of happiness. Almost. 

And when she spoke of Endovier and how she had snapped and sprinted for her own death. He understood that desire, that need to just end the pain. 

In all of her stories, what surprised him was that he was waiting to be told of an escape and instead he was told of a bargain. That she had bargained her soul to the same tyrant that killed her family, her kingdom. Four years of her life serving a man that killed her family and set in motion a fate that seemed to want to keep her down. What did not surprise him was that she won the competition. 

Aelin yawned, and he rubbed his eyes with a single hand, his other hand still in hers. But he didn’t let go. Instead he watched her sleep. In his near three centuries he had experienced much more than most. In a short span of eight years she had transverse a life from princess to assassin to slave and then champion for her enemy. 

What he saw and what she could not is, that her life experience groomed her to be a better queen. He had given her a hard time for turning her back on her people, but had she really? The last ten years she had learned more about the world through her trials and tribulations than any lesson a tutor could teach her. A small part of him wondered if the fates had a plan. He could not help but remember all the pushes he had received from Mala. What were the fate’s grooming for him?  Was there a life lesson in Lyria’s death and his stupid pride?

He held her hand as he drifted towards his own sleep. He promised her that they would find a way together. Deep down under all her masks, she was just a girl that dreamed of a better world. And he was a boy that dreamed of the very same thing. 

He kept her hand pressed to his chest, whether she knew it or he would admit to it, that hand was melting the ice surrounding his heart. Warmth rushed through him, trying to find the cracks in the ice. Not to hurt or mar—but to thaw. To free.

He rubbed his eyes, letting his brain catch up to the rays of morning light. Two hundred three years, forty-one nights filled with the threat of screaming darkness. Two hundred three years, forty-two mornings where if he fell asleep, he would have awaken covered in sweat so thick it felt as if his body was covered in blood, her blood, their blood. So many mornings where the echoes would still scream at his heart reminding him of his failure.

But this morning he awoke at dawn warm, rested and holding a small scarred hand to his chest. Two hundred three years, forty-two days he had been drowning in darkness, his heart encased in solid ice.

Fifteen days ago his darkness didn’t seem as dark as he learned of her darkness. He had no idea what this was, but one thing was certain, she had chased his eternal nightmare away. He had no idea what was left of the boy he had once been. Because that was what he was then, a boy, and over two hundred years had passed.

He walked the familiar hall leading towards the kitchen to assemble a breakfast tray for Aelin. He had almost failed her, but he did not, his magic pulled against every push of hers. Their magic sung a song so old and so rare, if he had a doubt that they were  _ Carranam _ the doubt washed away in that bath house. What it meant to be bonded would just be another thing for them to figure out as they crawled from the darkness that surrounded their beings.

Last night he meant every word, he had every intention of procuring a cot. This morning he knew that her soul was made of fire and that fire kept the darkness that always crept in at bay. If he allowed it, if he let go, she could melt the ice protecting heart. Maybe a cot would not be the answer that either of them needed.


	21. Chapter 21

He sat at his work table monitoring Aelin. His instincts to protect had battled for hours against his demons. He had never fussed over his mate, the same way he was fussing over Aelin. If he had, maybe… He froze that thought deep into the dark abyss that had become his soul. If there was one lesson that was deeply ingrained, it was that he could never go back. 

He looked over at Aelin, noticing she looked peaceful. At this moment he could easily see the Ashryver lineage in the gold of her skin and hair. He remembered decades ago when Rhoe had fallen in love with one of the fair princesses on a trip to Wendlyn. He had given up his right of succession to marry Evalin. The royal court in Terrasen had feared that she would would stay young as he continued to age. With no heir possible from King Orlon, it was determined that their child would be the heir to the throne. 

He had a feeling it was a concession on the part of the nobles. Rhoe and Orlon were the last of Brannon’s line. He recalled the lessons that he and Edna sat through, the lessons to mold them into the heads of House Whitethorn. He recalled his uncle mentioning that Terrasen had a great distrust of Maeve and in some ways Wendlyn. Terrasen would never kneel to a princess of Wendlyn. 

His eyes dropped to the scared hands and wrists that rested on her abdomen. Instead of being groomed for the crown, she had spent the past ten years being trained to kill. Instead of attending balls and royal functions, she had spent a year as a slave. She was much stronger than he had initially given her credit for. The spoiled brat facade was just that, a mark she wore to face her world.

The scent of two familiar demi-fae pulled him from his thoughts. He had always enjoyed the company of the old man and Luca was starting to grow on him, much in the same way Fenrys had. Even now in her current condition neither male were a true threat to her well being. So the growl that erupted from his throat took all of them by surprise. 

Emrys flashed a knowing smile, “Well Elentiya, it seems you are in competent hands, we’ll come back in a few days.”

He appreciated the old man, but that knowing smile ruffled him. He needed to bury the thoughts that blossomed from that smile. The guilt to move forward and live while is mate has died could consume him if he let it.

He continued to study the map marking the location of the found bodies. There was not an easily seen pattern, except that the locations made little sense. He could not remember a time where he had stared so intently at a map hoping it would give him the answers he was looking for, while providing the escape of not facing the current situation in his room. 

Aelin pulled him from his thoughts, “You know, I highly doubt anyone is going to attack me now, if they’ve already put up with my nonsense for this long.” 

“This isn’t negotiable.”  And it was not negotiable. He could hardly explain the strength in his desire to protect her. 

“So you mean to tell me that whenever someone comes close to burnout, she not only goes through all this misery, but if she’s female, the males around her go this berserk?” 

He set down his pen and twisted to examine her. Was this berserk? No. Berserk would have been barring the doors, eating only meals prepared by himself. Berserk would be incapacitating every demi-fae in this fortress until she was healed. No, he was fighting against berserk. 

“This is hardly berserk. At least you can defend yourself by physical means when your magic is useless. For other Fae, even if they’ve had weapons and defense training, if they can’t touch their magic, they’re vulnerable, especially when they’re drained and in pain. That makes people—usually males, yes—somewhat edgy. Others have been known to kill without thought any perceived threat, real or otherwise.” 

He pulled her mug from her, seeing that it was drained he refilled it. 

“What sort of threat? Maeve’s lands are peaceful.” 

“Threats from anywhere—males, females, creatures … You can’t reason against it. Even if it wasn’t in our culture, there would still be an instinct to protect the defenseless, regardless of whether they’re female or male, young or old.” 

She was looking a little peeky. He reached for a slice of bread and a bowl of beef broth. “Eat this.” 

“It pains me to say this, but one more bite and I’ll be sick all over the place.” 

Ignoring her, he dipped the bread into the broth and held them out to her. Before she had a chance to argue with him, “You need to keep up your energy. You probably came so close to burnout because you didn’t have enough food in your stomach.” 

He should have been closely monitoring, before he asked her to keep three fires alight, he should have ensured she had a full meal, something more than an apple. It was his job to instruct her and even though they had already determined he was the worst teacher in the world, he never recalled telling her that her fae body requires more food than her human form. 

While she ate, he fussed around the room before grabbing the now empty bowl from her, returning to the worktable trying to ignore the pain that was written between her brows. 

“So when the magic runs out,” she said, “that’s it—either you stop or you burn out?” 

The fact that he suspected they shared a carranam bond, her question allowed him to ease into a conversation he had been avoiding the last few hours. He knew her training on her fae nature was limited, would have been limited even if the last ten years had not occurred. Demi-fae rarely were powerful enough to have experienced the carranam bond. 

Rowan leaned back in his chair. “Well, there’s the carranam.” 

“It’s hard to explain, I’ve only ever seen it used a handful of times on killing fields. When you’re drained, your carranam can yield their power to you, as long as you’re compatible and actively sharing a blood connection.” 

She tilted her head to the side. “If we were carranam, and I gave you my power, would you still only be using wind and ice—not my fire?” 

He nodded his response. 

“How do you know if you’re compatible with someone?” 

He thought for a moment, “There’s no way of telling until you try. And the bond is so rare that the majority of Fae never meet someone who is compatible, or whom they trust enough to test it out. There’s always a threat that they could take too much—and if they’re unskilled, they could shatter your mind. Or you could both burn out completely.” 

He felt the guilt he had been hoarding over the deep need to care for Aelin in ways that he did not Lyria fade completely. While the mating bond was sacred, to experience it did not leave you completely defenseless. To share a carranam bond with another soul, to allow yourself to open completely to another soul, to trust them enough not to harm you, that was an entirely different matter. To trust another soul that deeply explained the strength of his need to protect her. 

“Could you ever just steal magic from someone?” 

“Less savory Fae once attempted to do so—to win battles and add to their own power—but it never worked. And if it did, it was because the person they held hostage was coincidentally compatible. Maeve outlawed any forced bonds long before I was born, but … I’ve been sent a few times to hunt down corrupt Fae who keep their carranam as slaves. Usually, the slaves are so broken there’s no way to rehabilitate them. Putting them down is the only mercy I can offer.” 

The memories of those times threatened to overtake him. The only reason he survived those deaths was because he often prayed for the same mercy he granted to those broken souls. 

“Doing that must be harder than all the wars and sieges you’ve ever waged.” 

It was those times that he had prayed to the gods, begged to them for a better world, a world without monsters. 

“Immortality is not as much of a gift as mortals would believe. It can breed monsters that even you would be sick to learn about. Imagine the sadists you’ve encountered—and then imagine them with millennia to hone their craft and warped desires.” 

He watched Aelin shudder at the thought. She had also seen and known the monsters that plagued their world, but only from the human aspect. “This conversation’s become too awful to have after eating,” 

“Tell me which one of your little cadre is the handsomest, and if he would fancy me.” 

He could not hold back the choke that left his throat.  The thought of her and Fenrys made his blood boil, it was amazing how the boyo could annoy him even in a general conversation. But her with the others caused him to feel a strong dread in the pit of his stomach.

“The thought of you with any of my companions makes my blood run cold.” 

“They’re that awful? Your kitty-cat friend looked decent enough.” 

It took all of his being not to choke out a laugh. Kitty-cat?

“I don’t think my kitty-cat friend would know what to do with you—nor would any of the others. It would likely end in bloodshed.” 

He crossed his arms at the grin that alight her face. While there was a part of him that wanted to see her smile, the other part did not want her to smile at the thought of being with one of his companions. He needed to end this conversation before it morphed into another line of questioning. 

“They would likely have very little interest in you, as you’ll be old and decrepit soon enough and thus not worth the effort it would take to win you.” 

He almost smiled when she rolled her eyes, “Killjoy.”

When he looked over her again, his eyes caught on her wrists, the proof that she had once worn shackles. 

“A skilled healer could probably get rid of those scars—definitely the ones on your wrist, and most on your back.” 

He was not sure why he offered the fleeting thought, her scars told a story that should not be erased. 

“There were cells in the bowels of the mines that they used to punish slaves. Cells so dark you would wake up in them and think you’d been blinded. They locked me in there sometimes—once for three weeks straight. And the only thing that got me through it was reminding myself of my name, over and over and over—I am Celaena Sardothien.” 

It took all of his two centuries of being Maeve’s blood sworn to lock down the rage that was boiling inside him. He sat listening to a girl of eighteen tell him about her hell. 

“When they would let me out, so much of my mind had shut down in the darkness that the only thing I could remember was that my name was Celaena. Celaena Sardothien, arrogant and brave and skilled, Celaena who did not know fear or despair, Celaena who was a weapon honed by Death.” 

“I don’t usually let myself think about that part of Endovier, after I got out, there were nights when I would wake up and think I was back in those cells, and I would have to light every candle in my room to prove I wasn’t. They don’t just kill you in the mines—they break you. 

“There are thousands of slaves in Endovier, and a good number are from Terrasen. Regardless of what I do with my birthright, I’m going to find a way to free them someday. I will free them. Them, and all the slaves in Calaculla, too. So my scars serve as a reminder of that.” 

The name whispered on the wind all those weeks ago came forward.  _ Fireheart. _

What other pain was she caring close to her heart? Before he could stop himself, “What happened ten years ago, Aelin?” 

“I’m not going to talk about that.” 

“If you took up your crown, you could free Endovier far more easily than—” 

“I can’t talk about it.” 

This is when he knew that she blamed herself in some part for the events that occurred ten years ago. 

“Why?” 

“There is this … rage, this despair and hatred and rage that lives and breathes inside me. There is no sanity to it, no gentleness. It is a monster dwelling under my skin. For the past ten years, I have worked every day, every hour, to keep that monster locked up. And the moment I talk about those two days, and what happened before and after, that monster is going to break loose, and there will be no accounting for what I do.”

And there it was. He had worked through that rage when he slowly killed the Fae that had murdered his wife and child. He was able to settle the rage knowing that those responsible were dead. He could not imagine what it would have been like to have to bottle up that rage because he was helpless to seek vengeance. 

“That is how I was able to stand before the King of Adarlan, how I was able to befriend his son and his captain, how I was able to live in that palace. Because I did not give that rage, those memories, one inch. And right now I am looking for the tools that might destroy my enemy, and I cannot let out the monster, because it will make me use those tools against the king, not put them back as I should—and I might very well destroy the world for spite. So that is why I must be Celaena, not Aelin—because being Aelin means facing those things, and unleashing that monster. Do you understand?” 

He did, more than she realized. 

“For whatever it’s worth, I don’t think you would destroy the world from spite. But I also think you like to suffer. You collect scars because you want proof that you are paying for whatever sins you’ve committed. And I know this because I’ve been doing the same damn thing for two hundred years. Tell me, do you think you will go to some blessed Afterworld, or do you expect a burning hell? You’re hoping for hell—because how could you face them in the After-world? Better to suffer, to be damned for eternity and—” 

“That’s enough,” she whispered. 

What a pair they were. He continued to sit at his work table, knowing that if laid next to her in this very moment he would pull her into him. That was a line he could not cross. It was bad enough that he did not request a cot, sharing a living space would blur the lines, sharing a bed would blur then even farther. 

He also knew that he should not get attached, that in a short matter of time that he would have to leave. That this chapter of their lives would end and at that time they would have to part ways. 

For tonight and for the days to come he would live in the moment, take the small reprieve from the darkness that she had to offer. 

Together. He knew that the together they spoke of did not end here. With that thought, he laid beside her allowing her scent of jasmine, lemon verbena and embers caress over his battered soul, before he spoke,  “At least if you’re going to hell, then we’ll be there together.” 

Tired of fighting the urge to touch her, he brushed a large hand down her hair, hiding the smirk when she flatly stated, “I feel bad for the dark god already.” 

“When I’m back to normal, can I assume you’re going to yell at me about almost burning out?” 

He let out a soft laugh but continued stroking her hair. “You have no idea.” 

In that moment he decided that the day she decided to free the slaves from the labor camps, that he would be beside her. Even if Maeve whipped him within a millimeter of his life, it would be worth the pain to see a single wish of hers to come true. “I have no doubt that you’ll be able to free the slaves from the labor camps some day. No matter what name you use.” 

When he felt her hand against his chest, and she whispered “thank you for looking after me,” he grunted to fight the urge to pull her closer. Boundaries. She was off-limits for a thousand reasons, not to mention that even if he could open his heart in that way again, he was sworn to Maeve. 


	22. Prince of Ice [Ch.22]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 22 of The Prince of Ice series, a retelling of Heir of Fire from Rowan’s point of view.
> 
> Birthdays and such (HOF.p376).

 

 

He examined the demi-fae, same as all the others. He shuddered at the thought that this could have been Aelin. The monster had been close to the fortress, too close. What bothered him the most, was that he could not scent the demon they were hunting. If what they were doing could even be considered hunting. They were simply aware of the demon’s existence. 

When he received news he held hope that this scene would be different then all the others, that there would be a single clue. Any clue. It had only been hours since the body was discovered, and it appeared to be discovered soon after their final breathe. 

This body was the same as the others, just a husk of the body remained as if all their life force had been consumed. The location was as random as the others. He decided to fly to the closest town, but knew it would be the same as before. The locals would not know the Demi-fae and no one in the town would be considered missing. 

Armed with gold and silver, he walked the streets. The town folk were open to talk, but as he suspected, they knew nothing of a missing person and nothing of the local Demi-fae. 

His thoughts pulled him to Aelin. Nineteen. He could barely recall his nineteenth birthday. He’d been young and full of dreams. Edna knowing his dream of greatness had gifted him a dagger, one that he still carried. His parents had faded soon after his eighteenth birthday. If it had not been for Edna and a few of his other cousins, it would have been just another day forgotten only to be observed by him. 

If the world had been different, the Princess would have been preparing for a ball in her honor instead of being forced to lie in bed recovering from a near burn-out. There would be no ball at the fortress, not even a dinner in her honor. He doubted that anyone besides himself knew that it was her birthday. 

The scent of chocolate wafted on the breeze, pulling him from his thoughts of Aelin and the Demi-fae. 

The confectioner did not blanch like she had on the previous visit. 

Surprising him she spoke before he had a chance, “I have a batch of hazelnut truffles cooling, I remember they were a favorite of your companion. Would you like a box?”

Hiding his shock, “Yes, it’s her birthday.”

He’s not sure why he said it. It’s not like she would give him special chocolates just because it was Aelin’s birthday. The confectioner nodded and a few moments later handed him a box with a bow.  

He could not recall the last time that he had bought a birthday present or received one. If he wanted to torture himself he knew the answer, knew that it would have been over two hundred years ago, when he had still hoped and dreamed for greatness. He knew his last birthday wish was for greatness and he had found it. The cost had been too damn high. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I know that was short, but it did not fit in chapter 21 and it would not fit in chapter 23. Hope you enjoyed it!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is shield training from Rowans POV in Heir of Fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My greatest apologies for the delayed posts. The next two chapters, possibly three depending on length will be from the Target Exclusive, concerning Remelle. I am super excited to write these from Rowan's POV and I am looking to expand a little on his existing POVs.

 

She was standing across the clearing with her knees slightly bent and her hands loose waiting for his next move. He could not hide the glint in his eyes. He’d been waiting for this. He had to remind himself that she was nineteen and even though she lacked the skills of other magic wielders in some areas, she excelled in others. 

“Your magic lacks shape, and because it has no shape, you have little control. As a form of attack, a fireball or wave of flame is useful, yes. But if you are engaging a skilled combatant—if you want to be able to use your power—then you have to learn to fight with it.” 

She groaned. “But,” he added sharply, “you have one advantage that many magic-wielders do not: you already know how to fight with weapons.” 

“First chocolates on my birthday, now an actual compliment?” 

He chose to ignore that comment, nothing good could come from that acknowledgement. 

“Your fire can take whatever form you wish—the only limit being your imagination. And considering your upbringing, should you go on the offensive—” 

“You want me to make a sword out of fire?” 

“Arrows, daggers—you direct the power. Visualize it, and use it as you would a mortal weapon.” 

He smirked, he had been right that she was learning to read him. Her answering groan was enough to say that she knew what was coming. 

_ Afraid to play with fire, Princess?  _

_ You won’t be happy if I singe your eyebrows off.  _

_ Try me.  _

“When you trained as an assassin, what was the first thing you learned?” 

“How to defend myself.” 

“Good.”

Any other apprentice and he would have held back. Given them a chance to hone their defensive magic, but this was Aelin. In the cave he had learned that she learned best under pressure. In the rare time she spoke of her previous training, she hinted that her old master had used the same incentive. In the hours spent with her in his room, their room he had learned she hated pity. 

So he hurled dagger after magical dagger at her, barely giving her time to react. 

One shield—that was all she had to craft and he would stop. He knew she could do this and like her shifting, he just had to unlock the first time. The first time and she would master this skill as quickly as she had mastered the others. 

“Try harder.” 

“I am trying,” 

His anger snapped, once again she was holding herself back. A part of him wanted to know why, but he already knew. She was leashing the monster inside her. Afraid if she learned how to burn the world that nothing would stop her. For the promises etched into her skin she would cleanse the world. 

“You’re acting like you’re on the verge of a burnout.” 

“Maybe I am.”

“If you believe for one moment that you’re close to a burnout after an hour of practicing—” 

“It happened that quickly on Beltane.” 

“That was not the end of your power.” His magic knew this he could feel the depth, the power that she kept back. Another wall, another lease that she would have to break down before she could face Maeve. The magical training would do nothing for her when she returned, her continent no longer had magic. She would survive as she had for the last ten years, with her daggers and that cunning brain of hers. But if magic was ever returned she needed to understand that what happened during Beltane was not the well of her power. 

“You fell into the lure of the magic and let it do what it wanted—let it consume you. Had you kept your head, you could have had those fires burning for weeks—months.” 

“No.” 

“I knew it. You wanted your power to be insignificant—you were relieved when you thought that was all you had.” 

He had no more words for her, so instead he sent the dagger, then the next, then the next at her. She raised her left arm as she would raise a shield, but instead the daggers met flesh. 

“Stop hitting me! I get the point!” 

He did not believe those words for a second. All he needed was to push a little further, he continued to unrelentingly toss more ice daggers at her. 

If Lyria had a even a small drop of the power Aelin possessed she would still be alive. If he would have spent time training her how to defend herself, she could still be alive. He wrapped each dagger with a little more of the ice that encased his heart with deadly efficiency towards the princess turned assassin. He was not going to lose another. He was not going to break another promise. 

He saw the shift in her eyes, the sense of acknowledgement as she broke her most current leash and raise a perfect circular shield. 

“We’re done for today. Go eat something.”

When her eyes met his, he knew that he had broken more than a leash she was holding on herself. He had broken down a wall. 

He could only smile when she said “No. Again”.

\- - - - - -

Aelin being awake and out of the room before he was, had given him a chance to continue his work on her dagger.  Work that he had stopped in the past few weeks due to his new living arrangement. There was an ease to living with Aelin that he had not expected. It was a little early for their training but he knew that Emrys would understand if he pulled her a little early from her kitchen duty. 

He followed her scent and was a little surprised when it did not lead him to the kitchens but instead to the battlement wall. He shifted back as he watched in wonder. Before him was a warrior Queen refusing to bow, even to herself. 

“How long has she been down there?”

One of the sentry replied, “An hour, Prince.”

“For how many mornings in a row?”

“This is the fourth, Prince.”

He had assumed that she was slipping to the kitchens. This would explain how she improved at a rate she should not have. He had to give her credit for her resourcefulness. 

“I’ve never seen anyone . . . fight like that”

Neither had he. It was her technique that drew him in. The way she moved, her master had been a monster, there was no doubt left in his mind of that. He had trained her thoroughly. She ducked and flipped and twisted, rentless, raging, and cunning. 

He watched as she continued to hone the monster inside her. The only thought he had was if she settled, she would have centuries to hone the skills she had learned in the past decade from one monster and months from another. He knew in this gut this was the game that Maeve was playing. His Queen wanted to know if she needed to kill a possible future threat and not for the first time in the last few months did he regret that oath he made centuries ago. 


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 24 of The Prince of Ice series, a retelling of Heir of Fire from Rowan’s point of view.
> 
> Months before Aelin reclaimed her identity as the long-lost Queen of Terrasen, she still called herself Celaena Sardothien - and was trained to wield her rekindled magic by a Fae Prince in a mountain fortress of Wendlyn… Despite their rough beginning, Aelin and Rowan have finally formed a solid friendship, based on mutual respect, trust, and more than a bit of banter. But just when their bond begins to shift into something neither of them quite anticipates - something far deeper - the fortress of Mistward receives a visit from three Fae nobles. And one of them claims some very, very personal ties to Rowan himself. Read on for an exclusive deleted scene from Heir of Fire, in which Aelin gets her first glimpse of the Fae nobility of Doranelle, and a bit more of Rowan’s history is revealed to her … with fiery consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I have been dying to write this chapter, just dying. It was so much fun to write and I always felt that this exclusive belonged in the book. Although we all filled in the gaps, it is the first time you truly see the friendship that is growing between Rowan and Aelin. For tumblr, I will be braking this apart into seven sections for your viewing pleasure.
> 
> There are parts of the exclusive that were already in Rowan’s POV. In those parts I just added additional feels for your reading pleasure.
> 
> Gratitude goes to @bookofademigod and @themaasofwar for posting the target exclusive. Without this I would have never been able to write this very important POV.

 

 

 

He blinked, then reread the missive. He could deal with Benson and even possibly enjoy the company of Essar. It was who signed the missive that made his blood run cold. Remelle. He headed to the kitchen to gather Aelin and hoped that she was in a pleasant enough mood to grant him this one favor. 

He watched her lounging on a boulder, her golden hair gleaned in the sun, the heir of Mala evident in the glow around her. She was changing, the healthy weight, the healing soul and the aging that happened to women between their late teens and twenties was beginning to settle into her face. She had always been beautiful, but her features were beginning to sharpen in some places while softening in others, transforming her to breathtaking. 

“What’s your favorite food?” 

They had been doing this exchange back and for for weeks. Sometimes it was like this, light and harmless, other times they peeled the layers back that had protected them from the world and left them feeling raw, exposed. 

“Whatever keeps me alive at the moment.”

It was an honest answer, he did not know when but at some point he stopped enjoying food. 

She clicked her tongue. “Could you be any more of an animal?”

He slid a glance in her direction, lifting a brow he had to remember she was raised by mortals, not Fae, especially not a Fae warrior who just happened to shift into a hawk. When she only scowled, he signed. 

“There’s a street vendor in Doranelle who sells meat on a stick.”

“Meat on a stick,” He could see her fighting to keep her lips in a straight line. 

“And I suppose yours is some confection or useless bit of sugar.”

“Sweets aren’t useless. And yes. I’d crawl over hot coals for a piece of chocolate hazelnut cake right now.” 

He could almost smell the sadness on her. He wondered if there was a deeper memory tied to the useless confection. 

“What good could that possibly be for keeping your body strong? With your magic, you’d burn through it and be hungry again within half an hour.”

She propped herself on her elbows. “Your priorities are obscenely out of order. Not all food is for survival and strength-building. You didn’t even try one of the chocolates from that town. I guarantee the moment you do, every time I turn my back, you’ll be shoveling them down.”

He just stared at her, before she decided it would be best to change topics, “Favorite color?”

He looked down from his perch, over the foothills and valleys of Wendlyn rippling away below them, “Green.”

“I’m surprised you actually know.”

He narrowed his eyes, but said, “What’s yours?”

“For a while, I made myself believe it was blue. But -- it’s always been red. You probably know why.”

He made an affirmative sound, while she raised a hand above her, threading a line of fire through her fingers. She plaited it between her knuckles, then snaked it down her palm, until it curled around her wrist, twining and slithering along her skin. 

She had spent more than the last ten years fighting who she was. The fear of who she was and the power she had would continue to be a battle for her. He was slowly learning when to support and when to push. 

“Good,” Rowan said. “Your control is improving.”

“Mmhmm.” she lifted her other hand, and rings of flame encircled her fingers. She set to work on carving the flames, forging them into individual patterns. 

He was not sure what made him say it, “Try it on me.” 

He responded to her frown, “Do it.”

He didn’t flinch when she fashioned a crown of flame for him. Right atop his head. 

“Bold move, one that doesn’t have much space for error.”

“I’m surprised you’re not encasing your head with ice.”

“I trust you,” he said quietly enough that she looked at his face. 

And he did, but there was more to her control than he expected, he wondered if she was actively wielding her power not to burn him or if it was instinctive. 

“And now one for you,” he said, as a crown of ice formed in the space between them, its delicate spikes rising high. He lifted it between his hands and set it on her head, its weight light. 

The innocent small smile she gifted him was everything. In that moment, he remembered that she was more than a demi-Fae, more than a girl, she was a Queen. And it seemed at the same moment, she remembered the same as her flames and smile faltered. 

“We’re going to have visitors tonight.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“I -- need your help.”

“Ah. So that’s why you let me have an afternoon of peace.” 

He snarled, but she lifted a brow. “Will I finally be meeting your mysterious friends?”

“No. They’re Fae nobility, passing through the area. They requested a place to stay for the night, and will arrive around sunset. Emrys is making them dinner, and I am expected to . . . entertain them.”

When he just looked at her, she said, “Oh, no. No.”

“They will not condescend to dine with the demi-Fae, and --”

“I’m even less acceptable than a demi-Fae!”

“--if I have to play host to them all evening, it will likely end in bloodshed.”

She blinked. “Not favorites of yours?”

He almost laughed at that. Favorites. Even before, he had little patience for court and nobility. The gods above knew that he was fated for a different life far away from politics.

“They’re typical nobility. Not trained warriors. They expect to be treated a certain way.”

“So? You’re in Maeve’s little cabal. And you’re a prince to boot. Don’t you outrank them?”

“Technically, but there are politics to consider. Especially when they’ll be reporting to Maeve.”

She groaned. “So what -- I’m supposed to play hostess?”

Her face was miserable, and part of him wondered if she was asking to much from her. “No just  -- help me deal with them.”

“And what am I going to get out of it?”

He clenched his jaw, “I’ll find you a chocolate hazelnut cake.”

“No.” He raised his brows, the confirmation that there was a story behind her love-hate relationship with that particular confection. 

She threw a wicked smile at him in response. “You’ll just owe me. A favor that I can call in whenever I please.” 

He sighed, lifting his gaze skyward. He did not like how dependent he was becoming on her, but he knew that he would do more damage alone. He needed a reminder of why he needed to stay at Mistward. Why he was a warrior and a Prince only in name. “Just look presentable at sundown.”

\- - - - - -

The jingling bells and merry voices reached the fortress long before the party appeared through the ward-stones.

Standing in the small courtyard, the Princess glanced to Rowan. “Really? You need my help with these prancing idiots?” 

He in turn glared at her. “Keep your voice down,” he muttered, giving a pointed glance to her ears.

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything else as the party arrived. There were five in the party now taking in the courtyard and fortress, two of them bored-looking guards whose attention fixed solely on him, and the other three … Remelle. Her pale blond hair was the opposite of Lyria’s dark curls and lacked the glow of Aelin’s blonde. 

“Rowan!” She advanced off her white mare, holding out her hands. Her hands and fingers were unmarked, lacking the signs of any labor or training. 

For decades he had wondered what he was thinking, but now, now he knew it was that everything in her was the opposite of what he would ever seriously desire. She was the embodiment of the court and politics he despised. There was never a chance that they could grow into anything beyond a chance for physical release. 

“Lady Remelle,” his massive hands engulfing hers as he took them. His spine was straight as a rod, and though Remelle looked at their joined hands as if expecting him to plant a kiss—the idea of kissing her hand as she expected turned his stomach—he dropped her fingers unceremoniously and turned to the other two nobles dismounting.

“Lord Benson,” he said to the tall, slender male, who just nodded at him. He had little respect for the lord in front of him, a politician through and through. The nod told him that Benson thought just as little of him. He was accustomed to that response from the Doranelle Lords, none of them could understand him turning away from his title. 

“Lady Essar,” Rowan said to the small, dark-haired Fae female. He often felt bad for her, she was in love with a male that could never love her back. Not in the way that she truly deserved. She was as kind as Lorcan was ruthless. True opposites, but Essar had always seen Lorcan in a different way than others had and often he wondered what he did not see in the warrior. 

He stiffened as Remelle placed a hand on his shoulder, he managed to withhold the snarl that wanted to erupt from his throat. “It’s been an age, hasn’t it? You never come to our parties, and Maeve keeps you all to herself.” 

“There was a time,” Remelle pouted, “when I got to keep you to myself. Sometimes I miss those days.”

Instead of responding to Remelle he shifted his focus to the guards, “Stables are to the left.”

He looked for his princess and extended an arm in her direction and loosened a breath he did not realize he was holding as she walked towards him. He relaxed when she came close enough where he could have tucked her into his side. Together. 

“This is—Elentiya. I’m training her at the queen’s request. Elentiya, this is Lady Remelle, Lord Benson, and Lady Essar.” 

It did not escape his notice that only Essar said hello. 

“So you are a half-breed, then,” Benson said, his eyes raking over her. He bristled at the hungry look that Benson was giving Aelin. He would be surprised if this night did not end in bloodshed. With the way that Aelin was looking at Remelle and the way Benson was looking at Aelin. One or both of them would snap.

“My great-grandmother was Fae. So if that makes me demi-Fae, l don’t know.”

It was Essar who broke the tense silence, “WeIl, I look forward to hearing about your adventures, Rowan—and how you came to be here, Elentiya. But ﬁrst, l think I should very much like a bath and something to nibble on.“ She slid an apologetic look in Aelin’s direction. “I’d kill for anything chocolate right now.”

He wondered if it was the fire that flowed through both of their bloodlines that fueled the love of anything chocolate. 

\- - - - - -

He wanted a bath himself after showing the nobles to their rooms, instead he sat at his work table, sharpening his hunting knife for the bloodbath that was likely to occur during dinner. 

“So, you and Remelle,” Aelin said from where she lounged on his bed, her head propped up by her scarred hand.

He should be changing into finer clothes, but the desire left as soon as they dropped off the nobles to their rooms. There was a time to use clothes as a weapon, to remind nobles of his bloodline and status and this was not one of those times. It was not one of the times that the princess should show her bloodline. Finer clothes might bring attention to her lineage. All three nobles were old enough to remember Evalin Ashryver. Essar’s house had the strongest ties to the Royal family of Wendlyn. That close tie was probably the reason she did not view demi-Fae the same as Benson or Remelle did. 

They had an hour until dinner. They just needed to survive the dinner and send the nobles their merry way in the morning.

“Remelle was … a very, very big mistake,” not bothering to turn and face her, his focus on his hunting knife.

“Seems like she doesn’t think so.”

He could not help but to turn his head and glare over his shoulder. She was purposely being difficult. “It was a hundred years ago.”

“She acts like you cast her aside this winter.”

“Remelle just wants whatever she can’t have. A condition many immortals suffer from to stave off boredom.” 

“She was practically clawing at you.”

“She can claw all she wants, but I’m not making that mistake again.”

“Sounds like you made that mistake a few times.”

Rowan leveled a vicious gaze at her. He hated his past mistakes. Only the touch of jealousy that he felt from the princess calmed his blood. “It was over the course of a season, and then I came to my senses.”

“Mmmm.”

He stabbed the knife into the table and stalked to the bed until he glowered over her. Aelin lay as she was, brows high and lips pressed together. Her shoulders gently shook as she fought back her laughter. 

“One laugh,” he warned. “Just one laugh, and I’m going to dump you in the nearest pond.”

She shook harder with the effort to keep her howl inside.

“Don’t. You. Dare,” he growled, leaning low enough that his breath warmed her mouth. “If you—

The door opened, and he froze, a low snarl rumbling out of him, so violent that it would echo in everyone's bones. A clear warning. A threat that Remelle needed to understand. Remelle, stood frozen, blinked, and said, “Oh!”

He knew what their positioned looked like and in that moment he did not want to correct the assumption that Ramelle was making. Maeve did not order him not to have a physical relationship with the princess. It was still dangerous, he would need to tread lightly between warding off REmelle and triggering Maeve’s reaction. 

‘What do you want?” straightening but not stepping away for Aelin.

He watched as Remelle surveyed the room, taking in the details that suggested it was not his space alone: the brush on the dresser, the undergarments left tossed over a chair as if taken off in a moment of pleasure, the ribbons she used to tie back her hair, the small boots beside his massive ones, and even the various personal items they kept on their own nightstands. It was clear that they had been sharing a living space. 

“I wanted to catch up,” Remelle said, looking everywhere but at Aelin, “but it seems you are … occupied.”

If only Remelle knew who Aelin was. 

“We’ll talk at dinner.”

He had to fight back a snarl as Aelin popped up from the bed. “I have to go help Emrys with the meal, actually.” She barely managed to hide her wicked grin. “Why don’t you stay, Remelle?”

If he had been blessed with fire, he may have melted her bones. That wicked grin told him that she enjoyed this piece of hell she was subjecting him too. 

He was going to kill her, she won this round but as soon as they resumed training, he was going to murder her. And then murder her again.

Remelle was still in the doorway, frowning in the direction Aelin had gone. When she turned, a serpentine smile danced on her red lips. “Is this part of her training, too?“

“Get out,” was all he said, all he could say. 

Remelle clicked her tongue. “Is that how you speak to me these days?”

Gods above, for the last century, yes! She did not love him as Essar loved Lorcan. Remelle was in love with his title and position. Second most powerful Fae male and that was even debatable. They had never faced off, and honestly he would not fight against Loracan with all his being. That was until recently, at one time he would have welcomed the death, now he wondered. Had he healed enough to fight, to dream again. 

"I don’t know why you bothered to stop here, or what you expect of me—”

“I heard you were here, and thought I’d say hello and spare you the tedious company of half-breeds. I didn’t realise you’d taken to them so much.”

He knew exactly what it had looked like when she burst in here. Denying it would only lead to a headache, but letting Remelle assume he was sharing a bed with Aelin he decided was equally unacceptable. He couldn’t decide how Maeve would interpret it. But she had not ordered him not to. Unless—

“And who was it that told you I’m here?”

“Maeve, of course. I complained to her that I missed you.”

The question was whether or not Remelle was a willing or unknowing spy. Or if Maeve had sent Remelle to see just what manner of relationship he had developed with the princess. 

“As your friend, Rowan, l have to say … the girl’s rather beneath you.”

He held in his laugh. Apparently, Maeve hadn’t informed her who, exactly, he was training. Remelle had been relentless in her pursuit of him a century ago, winning him over with her charm and smiles, but—he didn’t really care to think back to that time. He wondered what Maeve’s game was, something to ponder later. 

“One,” he said, “you’re not my friend. Two, it’s none of your business.”

Her eyes narrowed in a way that made him realise Remelle would make every minute until she left a living hell for the princess—not knowing what manner of predator she was provoking.

So rather than see Remelle’s blood splattered on the walls before dawn, he said, “There is a shortage of bedrooms here, and we’ve had to share quarters as a result.” Not quite a lie, but not the entire truth.

Remelle’s brows remained high on her moon-white skin. “Well, I suppose that’s good news for Benson.”

What in the hell did Benson have to do with Aelin, “What?”

“He has needs that must be attended to, and finds her attractive enough. Maeve said it was more than fine if she—”

His blood boiled, “If Benson lays one finger on her, he’s going to find himself without his insides.” He glanced over to the hunting knife embedded into his work table. Yes, that would gut the Fae male efficiently. Maybe too efficiently. 

Maeve—Maeve had suggested that she was available for—

He clamped down on the blinding rage as Remelle blinked. “Honestly, Rowan, what do you think most of the half-breeds wind up doing in Doranelle?”

He had no answer—no words at all—as soon as she said that.

She shrugged. “Benson will be gentle with—”

“Benson looks twice at her, and he dies. He looks twice at any of the females in this fortress and he dies.”

The words were laced with a growl so fierce that they were barely understandable. But Remelle understood.   
Did Lorcan know? He was a demi-Fae himself, had proven himself half a millennium ago. Was he aware what went on in their city? It was disgusting—worse than disgusting. The Fae were better than than. But Maeve—

“I’ll make sure the warning is conveyed,” Remelle purred.

\- - - - - -

He paced his rooms after Remelle left. The raging anger refusing to diminish. He shifted in the hope that a flight would clear the emotions coursing through him. Not surprising he perched outside the kitchen, ensuring that Remelle did not find her blood scattered throughout the kitchen.

Aelin did indeed go to the kitchen, where she helped Emrys prepare the meal. Luca was there, prattling away, but the chatter stopped mid-sentence. He had no idea how she could stand his constant prattling. 

Essar was standing at the foot of the stairs, smiling faintly.

“Dinner won’t be ready for another twenty minutes,” Aelin said, wiping her hands on a dishcloth before approaching the lady. Luca was practically gaping at the small beauty, but Essar gave him a polite smile and he immediately found himself interested in whatever he was doing with a hint of a blush. “I can show you to the dining hall, if you’d like to wait there.”

“Oh, no. Benson’s in there already, and he … I think I’d have more fun in here.”

“It can be chaotic and loud and messy in here—”

“I know how a kitchen operates,” Essar said. “Just tell me what work needs to be done, and I’ll do it.”

Aelin looked to Emrys, who bowed and introduced himself and Luca—whose blush went beet red at the attention. Aelin stood chopping vegetables beside the Essar. He should fly away, but a small part of him was curious with what Essar would see in Aelin. Her gift of fire was nothing compared to Aelin’s, her true gift he was coming to realize was reading people. 

Aelin broke the silence,“So, you’re just … travelling around?”

“Maeve gave us a task, which I’m not supposed to talk about, but yes—it involved us travelling for a bit. We’re on our way back to Doranelle though—thank the Bright Lady.”

Aelin raised a brow. ‘Mala?”

Essar lifted a hand, and flames danced on her fingertips. “Not much of a gift, but it kept us warm on the road at least.”

He watched as Aelin swallowed. He knew that she’d never met another fire-wielder. “Is it hard—to master the fire?”

He was not surprised that Aelin continued to hide her gift. It was then that he realized there was a secondary reason for Maeve sending Esaar on this task.

Essar shrugged. “I was very young when my training began, and I’ve had about two centuries to master what little power I have. Aside from a few burns and blisters, I’ve never really been able to do much harm, or impress anyone, really. Remelle’s got the more interesting gift—her magic lends itself toward mastering any language she hears, no matter how briefly. It’s why Maeve likes to send her around to places. And Benson’s got a knack for becoming invisible whenever he wants to, which …” Essar winced.

“Makes him a good listener,” Aelin finished finished for her. 

Essar responded wanting to move from talking of the others,“You must have impressive gifts if Prince Rowan is training you.”

“I—”

“Those vegetables done?” Emrys asked, he was once again reminded how astute the demi-Fae male was. 

Essar said casually, “I can’t imagine Rowan is as easy teacher.”

“You could say that.”

“But they’re all like that—Rowan and his companions who serve the queen.”

“You know them?”

Essar blushed. “I was involved with Lorcan, their leader, for a time. But—his lifestyle and mine are very different.”

“And what is Lorcan like?”

“A demi-Fae, like you.”

Aelin masked her surprise. Essar went on, “He has had to prove himself every single day, every hour, since he was born. Even though his power isn’t challenged—by anyone other than Rowan that is—he … Lorcan is not an easy male to be around. Some days, I’m surprised he has friends.”

“And Rowan is his friend?”

Essar gave Aelin an amused smile. “In a way. They frighten even us, you know. Especially when they’re together. When Rowan and Lorcan are together in a room … Let’s just say that they sometimes do not leave that room intact by the time they depart. Or the city for that matter.”

True, Essar had even seen that there was little friendship between him and Lorcan, more of a common goal and the ability to destroy anything that stood in their way or Maeve’s way. Though the destruction came from different places and needs within each of them. 

“And yet Maeve lets them work together?”

“She would be a fool to let either of them go—which is why she bound them to her with the blood oath. They’ve levelled cities for her before.”

“Actually levelled cities?”

Essar nodded gravely. “And yet Remelle thinks she can control Rowan—wants to possess him.”

“She’s an idiot.”

“Indeed. But power is power, and since Remelle can’t look past Lorcan’s mixed bloodline, Rowan is her only other option.”

“Would—would their children also belong to Maeve, the way Rowan does?”

Essar cocked her head. “I don’t know. None of his companions have sired offspring, so there’s no way of telling what Maeve would do.”

He could see Aelin’s shudder, “You don’t seem to speak as reverently as the others do about her.”

“Not all Fae are her willing slaves, you know. And part of—part of why my relationship with Lorcan fell apart was due to that. He is blood-sworn to her, and no matter how I cared for him, I am most certainly not. Nor will I ever swear such an oath.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you are training with the most dangerous pure-blooded Fae male in the world, and yet he treats you as an equal. He presented you as his equal.” 

He did not realize he had done such an innate action in front of the nobles. Even he was just realizing and coming to terms with the fact that Aelin was his equal and if given the chance he knew that she would surpass him. He had to remember to mask himself, that action was dangerous both for Aelin and himself.

“I think Rowan just didn’t feel like dealing with Remelle alone.”

“Probably. But he’s also dealt with her on his own plenty. And since Rowan’s not one to show off a new companion just to spite an old lover …”

“I’m not sure I follow what you’re getting at.”

“I find it all very interesting.”

“I think you’re reading a bit into it.”

But Essar only gave her a soft smile. “I’m sure I am.”

He had been fighting for weeks this connection between them. The likelihood that they were Carranam. As he flew off, it unsettled him a bit that Essar could see the bond that they were beginning to form. Such a bond was dangerous not only because he was bloodsworn to Maeve, but a bond like this could destroy him or the princess. A bond that Essar felt she needed to warn Aelin of. 

\- - - - - - -

Dinner went well for the six seconds it took to walk from the doorway to the large table in the vacant dining hall.

The plan had been for Aelin to sit at his left. Although if they were being technical, in Wendlyn Aelin outranked his title as a Princess of the Ashryver line. A position he knew she would argue against and a position that would alert their unwanted guest to the true power that Aelin possessed. 

But Remelle, moving swifter than they had expected, had steered Benson into the seat meant for Aelin, plopped herself next to himself, and left Aelin with the choice of sitting beside Remelle or the leering male. He was not the least bit surprised when she chose Benson.

He followed the ordeal without comment, his attention pinned on Benson as Aelin took a seat next to the lord. But whether or not Benson noticed the lethal glare in his eyes—the lord revealed nothing. He debated killing the male, saving future demi-Fae females from his ‘gentle’ advances.

The first course—a roast-chicken soup that Remelle and Benson frowned over—came out fast enough. Aelin managed all of one spoonful before Remelle brought out her claws and said to her, “So you’re from Adarlan’s empire.”

Aelin took a second, slow spoonful of soup. “I am.”

“I thought l detected the accent—Adarlan and … Terrasen, am I right? They do mangle their words over there so brutally. I doubt even years here will cure you of the boorish accent.”

To his surprise, Aelin took another very slow spoonful of soup. The temper it seemed could be leashed. He was uncertain if the monster or her court training taught her that particular skill. 

He was thankful when Essar broke the tension. “I ﬁnd the accent quite charming, actually.” Benson grunted his agreement, giving Aelin a too-long look. He knew is eyes gleemed when he noticed that Aelin was fighting the urge herself to gut the male. Knowing Aelin, it was not anything as swift as gutting him, she would take her time tourchering the male. 

“Well, you had such a provincial upbringing, Essar.” Remelle said brightly. “I’m not surprised that you like it.”   
Essar’s round face tightened, but she said nothing. However, when Remelle went to take a delicate sip of her soup, she let out a hiss and nearly dropped her spoon. The liquid was indeed steaming hot—far hotter than any of theirs. Essar gave the female an innocent, questioning look, but Remelle said, “The beastly cook boiled this soup.”

He masked calm, trying to keep the violence raging through his veins at bay. 

Aelin swallowed and said to Essar, “You grew up in the countryside?”

Remelle rolled her eyes, but Essar smiled kindly at Aelin. “My father owns a vineyard in the southeast of our territory. I spent my youth roaming the olive orchards and the cypress groves. But I moved to Doranelle when it was deemed time for me to enter society.”

He wondered if Aelin knew that the high quality wine she drank came from those same vineyards. If she would have grown in a castle, most of the wine would have been from Essar’s family house. 

“Alas, Essar has been rather unlucky when it comes to fulﬁlling her parents’ wishes to ﬁnd a proper husband,” Remelle said.

Aelin questioned, “Husband, not—mate?“

Remelle clicked her tongue. "Of course not. A mate is rare—most Fae don’t find them. So, we marry.”

It was then that he realized how sheltered she had been. Any Fae response she had so far was instinctive, not taught. “What if you marry then you ﬁnd your mate?”

“Wars have been started for that,” Benson ﬁnally said, his dark eyes seeming to swallow her whole. “But if that is the case, it is treated very delicately.”

“It’s a mess, is what he means,” Essar clariﬁed. “A male will feel the need to kill any challenger to his mate, even if that challenger is already wed to her. Even if they’re in love. For all our reﬁnements, there are still instincts that can’t be controlled.”

Aelin nodded, finishing off her soup.

Remelle, however, smiled at her. A smile he knew meant that she was going to attempt a verbal blow to Aelin.  “But as a half-breed, you won’t have to worry about such things. Finding a mate is even rarer for those with diluted blood—and none of us would marry you, anyway.”

The princess stared at the female for a long moment too shocked to even respond. Well to respond in a civilized manner, he himself fought off the snarl that was escaping his body. 

Remelle refused to break the stare, and Aelin settled in, refusing to back down from this female. He reluctantly pulled his gaze from the two when he felt Essar’s attention sift, and could almost hear the puzzle pieces snap together in Essar’s mind as she recognised the coloring of Aelin’s eyes and murmured, “Remelle.”

It took but a second for Remelle to relent and turn her attention to him. He waited for her next move and was not surprised when she began to speak in the old language with her overly sweet smile. He had no idea how he ever allowed himself a second alone with her. Much less an entire season. He knew how it must look to Aelin. To purposefully snub her. Remelle wanted a reaction. If only she knew she was literally playing with fire. 

He spoke with lethal quiet, “Speak the common tongue, Remelle.”

Remelle put a hand on her chest in a mockery of an apology. “Sometimes I forget—it’s not everyday I’m in the company of half-breeds.”

Essar continued to prove herself when she swallowed hard, her brown skin going a bit wan as she surveyed Aelin and Remelle. Oh, Essar had ﬁgured out that it wasn’t some common demi-Fae seated across from them. The gold ring in Aelin’s eyes were beginning to glow brightly. 

Emrys and Luca entered, clearing the soup away and bringing out the next course—platters of roast meats and vegetables. 

Then Remelle said, “Rowan, it must be a trial for you to have to eat this day in and day out.” she pushed her meat around on her plate, then set the fork down. 

He knew that she was still digging for a response from the demi-Fae, something to report back to Maeve, “I eat better here than I do in Doranelle.”

“There’s no need to be nice on account of the help,” Remelle said. “if they don’t learn what we like, whatever will they do in the capital?”

He was surprised when Aelin said softly, “The next time you insult my friend, I’m going to shove your face into whatever plate is in front of you.”

He had never once heard from her the calm before the violence. Fae males knew that a calm soft voice normally meant that violence would likely follow. It was not unheard of for a female Fae to exhibit the same tendencies, he just until this moment never expected to hear them from Aelin. 

Remelle blinkes. “Well, I never—”

“Remelle,” Essar whispered.

When Remelle put a hand on possessively on his forearm, he knew that this dinner was over. 

“You mean to let her insult me like that? To make threats against a member of the royal household?”

In a quiet warning of his own, “Get you hand off me.”

But Remelle didn’t let go, as she snapped at Aelin, “You are dismissed from this table. Get out.”

Aelin looked at the white hand gripping his forearm, he eyes bright with fire. “Take your hand off him.”

“I can do as I please, and if you have any sense, you’ll vacate this hall before I have you whipped—”

He did not have time to react before the fire erupted, and Remelle’s scream echoed off the stones.

Living flame wrapped around Remelle, not burning, not singeing, just—encasing. Even the hand on his forearm was aflame, not burning him. Her control was growing and he stopped himself from grinning with pride. Through the column of gold-and-red fire, Remelle’s eyes were wide as she turned to Essar and said, “Release me.” But Essar only looked at Aelin. “It’s not my magic.”

He knew not to move. He waited for the Princess’s response, allowing her time to calm the roar he was certain was pounding in her ears. For a second he was grateful that the one time he had coldly threatened a whipping that she had not mastered her powers. 

And then Aelin said, “If you ever raise a whip to anyone, I will find you, and I will make sure that these flames burn.”

He wondered about Remelle’s intelligence when she seethed, “How dare you threaten a lady of Doranelle.”

“The next time you touch Rowan without his permission, I will burn you into ashes.” 

Then Aelin turned her head to Benson. “And if you look at me or any female like that again, I will melt your bones before you have a chance to scream.”

Benson, wisely, nodded and averted his gaze.

Essar was pale when Aelin pulled back her teeth in a snarl and said to her, “You keep everything you learned here to yourself.”

Essar the only intelligent one in the group of nobles, nodded.

He knew he was not hiding his amusement. For too long the Fae had thought less of demi-Fae, even though there were some that had more power than even the nobles that sat at this table. 

He was surprised when Aelin asked, “I defer judgement to you, Prince.”

He studied Remelle, who was barely moving, hardly breathing, then jerked his chin. “Release her and let’s eat.”

The ﬂames winked out so fast it was if they’d never existed.

In the silence that fell, Remelle leaned over the arm of her chair and vomited on the ﬂoor.

Aelin picked up her fork, took a bite of rabbit, and smiled.

A Queen indeed. Maybe she would burn their world, but not out of spite. No she would cleanse the world of the corrupt in the name of justice for others. As heartless as it seemed, fate seemed to have a plan for the princess. She was not a queen to the noble houses, no she would be a queen of freed slaves, the nameless, and the forgotten of the world. If she released that monster inside of her, she could rattle the stars. 

\- - - - - - - 

Dinner ended as quickly and silently as possible. The nobles excused themselves to their rooms quickly and they followed suit. The small fear that Remelle would want to stay a few days to torture Aelin was quickly extinguished with Aelin’s show tonight. Now his only concern was what Essar had discovered, that Aelin was more than just a lowly demi-Fae. At best she would think of Aelin as a bastard of the Ashryver line. 

“If I never see them again, it’ll be too soon,” Aelin said into the darkness of their room.

He let out a low laugh. “I thought you liked Essar.”

“I do, but … you should have heard her trying to get me to talk in the kitchen.”

“About what?”

He knew, but she had been unaware of his perch. 

“About you. About our—relationship. I think you’ll go home to a host of unpleasant rumors.”

“I think the status of our relationship will be the least of the rumours after tonight.”

“Essar said that you and Lorcan once decimated a city together.”

He hissed. “Ah. Sollemere.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“That’s because it doesn’t exist anymore.”

She turned over, staring at him in the moonlight that slipped in through the curtains. “You wiped it off the map—literally?”

He pinned her with a long look. “Sollemere was a place so wicked, full of monstrous people who did such unspeakable things, that … even Maeve was disgusted by them. She gave them a warning to stop their ways, and said if they …” He clenched his jaw. “There are some acts that are unforgivable—and I won’t stain this room by mentioning them. But she swore to them that if they continued to do it, she would obliterate them.”

“Let me guess; they didn’t listen.”

“No. We got out as many children as we could with our legion. And when they were safely away, Lorcan and I leveled it to dust.”

They had been whipped for that, their orders were to decimate the city. Not to show compassion to the children. 

“You’re that powerful.”

“You don’t seem shocked by it.”

“You’ve told me plenty of harrowing stories. If what these people did was so awful that you won’t repeat it, then I’ll say they had it coming,’

“So bloodthirsty.”

“Is that a problem for you?” It was a real question, one of the many reasons she kept her power on a leash. She was afraid of the monster she would be if she unleashed said power. 

“I find it endearing.” She gave him a playful shove, but he caught her hand and held it, his calluses brushing her own.

“You could do that, you know. Make an entire city burn.”

“I hope I never have to.”

“So do I.” He threaded his fingers through hers and held them up to examine the scars along the back of her hand, her fingers. ‘But I’ll never forget the look on Remelle’s face when you shot fire out of your mouth and eyes.”

“I did not.”

He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that echoed in her chest. “Part woman, part dragon.”

If only she knew that she had looked like a goddess. He eyes bright gold with the fire flowing through her veins. 

“I didn’t spew flames.”

“Your eyes were living gold.” Maybe his favorite color was changing as well. 

“Are you going to reprimand me?”

He lowered their joined hands to the bed, but didn’t let go. “Why should I? She was given fair warning, she ignored it, and you followed through. It follows the Old Ways, and you had every right to show her how serious you were.”

She considered him, then after a moment said, “It scared me—how in control I was. How much I meant it. It scared me that I wasn’t scared. It scared me that…It scared me that …It scared me that I’ve come to care so much about you that I’d draw that sort of line in the sand. It scared me that I would burn and maim and kill for you, and yet at the end of the day, you still belong to Maeve, and there is nothing I can do, no amount of burning and maiming and killing, to keep you with me.”

He released her hand—only to slide his own against her cheek. He knew, because in that moment he felt the same fear. 

\- - - - - -

The party departed the next morning, and he didn’t bother to bring the princess down to see them off. It was for the best, given that Remelle still appeared jumpy and furious, Benson refused to look at anyone, and even Essar was wide-eyed.

He waited until they were all mounted on their fine horses in the courtyard before he approached. It was to Essar he spoke, grabbing hold of her Asterion mare’s bridle. “Let’s hope last night was the most eventful of your journey.”   
Remelle sniffled from her saddle, but said nothing.

Essar, however, looked up at the fortress, as if she could see through moss and stone to the princess sleeping within.   
Essar was a beautiful female—soft and inviting and clever—and he’d never understood why Lorcan hadn’t tried harder to keep her. She had been good for him. But Lorcan’s ruthlessness and cold ambition were his best tools and worst enemies. He had only seen the female for what she offered inside his bedroom.

Essar said, “I do not think any of us will forget last night anytime soon.”

Neither would he. When Aelin had engulfed Remelle in flame, he’d been stunned stupid. She hadn’t demonstrated skills of that level, hadn’t practiced that sort of thing. And if Remelle had tried to fight back, if Remelle had physically hurt him or anyone in that fortress … The lady would be ash on the wind right now.

A threat had been made against those Aelin saw as hers. Such things to be dealt with swiftly and brutally. Interesting—so interesting for that side of the princess to have come snarling to the surface.

And she had claimed him. He was not certain how felt felt about that claiming. This new honesty he was finding with himself knew that he had claimed her as well. It was hard to admit that claim, but there was no sense in hiding that knowledge from Essar, she had known that fact before he even thought it. 

Of course Essar knew. She’d figured out what kind of magic smouldered in Aelin’s veins, and list night, the Queen of Terrasen had made a claim on him. If Essar told Maeve about it … he did not know how Maeve would respond. The games she was playing did not surprise him, he just wish he knew what the end game was. A part of him knew that when the time came that Aelin may not let him go and that made him more fearful that the claim itself. 

The others in the party moved out, Remelle stiff-backed, but he remained with Essar.

“Name the price for your silence.” 

Essar’s dark brows rose. “You think I would run to the nearest gossip and tell them Aelin Galathynius is training here?”

She knew more than he had expected her to know. She had connected that the lost princess was not so lost. 

“You know what I’m talking about.”

Essar’s dark eyes narrowed. “I would not run to Maeve, either. Remelle will tell her that the girl threw a tantrum and attacked her without provocation—she’d never admit to any of the truth behind it. Or figure out who she really is. And Benson … Leave him to me.”

“And your price?”

“There is no price, Prince.”

He gripped the bridle harder. “Why?”

Essar studied the disappearing party, then the fortress. “We  have known each other for a long while now. Through all the centuries, I have never seen you present another female as your equal—as your friend. And I do not think you did it because of who she is.” Rowan opened his mouth , but she said, “I would not take that gift away from you, Rowan. Because it is a gift. She is a gift—to the world, and to you.”

His fingers slackened on the reins, and Essar motioned her mount into a walk.

“She is going to fight for you, Rowan,” Essar said, looking over a shoulder. “And you deserve it, after all this time. You deserve to have someone who will burn the earth to ash for you.” His heart was pounding wildly, but he kept his face blank, his will ice and steel. “If you see him,” Essar added with a sad smile, “tell Lorcan I send my regards.”   
And then she was gone.

Her voice continued to echo through his mind, shifting from fear to hope in an endless cycle between the opposing emotions. Not that much different than the pull between his ice and her fire. 

_ She is going to fight for you . . . you deserve it . . . She is going to fight for you _

He felt that warmth of the sun on his face. Maybe the gods had a plan for him as well, at least one particular goddess. Maybe there was a reason why two broken souls crossed paths. 

\- - - - - - -

Things fell back into their usual rhythm in the two days that followed, though he couldn’t stop thinking about what Essar had said. Because he knew it was true, because … because he wanted it to be true. Hope he was learning was the most dangerous emotion. 

Aelin said nothing about it, though he’d sometimes catch her frowning at him, as if trying to decipher some puzzle. A puzzle he was certain that Essar had laid the pieces out for Aelin to decipher. Her cunning mind would solve that puzzle quicker than he himself wanted to acknowledge. 

He was pouring over a report Vaughan had sent him when she walked into his room that night. The smell of chocolate and nuts hit him, and when he twisted in his seat, he discovered her carrying a small, misshapen cake, a sheepish smile  on her face. So unlike her normal face, he somehow found the smile endearing. It left him wondering when and who the last person to see such a smile on her face. 

Hope continued to grow steadily in his heart, he knew she was trusting him, showing him what was beneath the mask she wore to the rest of the world. 

“It took me hours to make this damn thing, so you’d better say it’s good.”

She set the confection in front of him, along with a plate, fork, and knife. The blade she used to slice into the chocolate-frosted lump, cutting a large piece. It was layered with a lighter frosting—some sort of creamy-looking filling between the dark cake.

“Chocolate hazelnut cake?”

She plopped the piece on the plate for him and took his hand to press the fork into it. “You have no idea how hard it was to get the ingredients. Or to find some sort of recipe. I haven’t even tasted it yet. Emrys looked like he was going to faint with horror.” 

He wondered what it cost her to make this cake and then to share it with him. When continued to just stare at the cake, she clicked her tongue. “This is the favour you owe me. Just try it.”

He gave her a long stare that usually sent men running, but she bit her lip and glanced at the cake. Ignoring the hidden threat in his gaze. What a pair they were. Neither afraid of the other, the trust that they had build made that ember of hope grow. Her plea was enough that he’d adjusted his grip on the fork, picked up a piece, and brought it to his mouth without saying a word. 

While he chewed and swallowed, she was practically hopping from foot to foot and wringing her hands. So he let out a grunt of pleasure, took another bite, and then another, until the entire piece was cleaned off his plate.

It took every fiber of his being, but he took another piece. And another. Until his stomach was protesting and all but a sliver was left on the platter.

“I told you it was delicious,” she preened, giving him a triumphant smile as he set down his fork. She ruffled his hair, but he caught her wrist, squeezing gently while he rose from his seat and brought his face dangerously close to hers.    
He knew every fleck of gold in those remarkable eyes—knew how her very blood tasted. And this near to her, their breath mingling … he pushed other desires away and instead said, “Now we’re even,” and stalked out of the room.

He was about three steps down the hall when Aelin’s fork scraped against the platter, no doubt scooping the sliver of cake he’d left. A moment after that her curse barked off the stones of the fortress, followed by spitting and coughing. 

Despite himself, he was smiling when he shouldered open the bathing room door—and quickly cast up the contents of his stomach.

If she failed as a warrior, she could always cook for her enemies. 

  
  
  



	25. Chapter 25

The stench of the body was helping him bury those urges that were roaring. Boundaries. He needed to remind himself of those boundaries as Aelin stripped down to her under things after their three hour run here. 

“Well, I can certainly smell him this time,” Aelin said between panting breaths. 

“This body has been rotting here longer than the demi-Fae from three days ago.” 

He watched as she bit back her snarky remark, she was still angry that he left her to train while he inspected the last discovered body. 

He swore as he lifted his forearm to cover his nose and mouth as he examined the husk that remained in a heap of clothing behind a small boulder. The demi-Fae male’s face was twisted in horror. 

This could have been Aelin, or Luca, or any of the demi-Fae that resided at Mistward. The second lingering scent was that of the creature from the barrows.

“It has our attention and it knows it,” she said. “It’s targeting demi-Fae—either to send a message, or because they … taste good. But—” 

He waited, knowing he was not going to like where her cunning mind just traveled. 

“What if there’s more than one?” 

He did not want to consider that there was more than one of these monsters. 

“You’re old as hell, you must have considered that we’re dealing with a few of them, given how vast the territory is. What if the one we saw in the barrows wasn’t even the creature responsible for these bodies.”

Even with her point, he did not want to consider there was two of them, but he reluctantly nodded in agreement. 

“Rowan.”

He looked at her concerned face, “Tell me you see what I’m seeing.”

He let out a vicious curse, “This male--” he had fought, and he had fought with every ounce of his being. 

“Fought. He fought back against it. None of the others did, according to the reports.”

He handed over a dagger at Aelin’s silent request. 

She yanked down the dagger and he watched as she carefully, as gently and respectfully as she could, run the tip of the dagger under the male’s cracked and filthy nails, then smeared the contents on the back of her own hand. Dirt and something . . . something else. 

“What the hell is that?” he demanded, kneeling beside her, sniffing her outstretched hand. He jerked back, snarling. “That’s not dirt.”

He watched as the color drained from her face not from fear, but from horror. Whatever memory she was reliving—

“This isn’t possible,” she said, jolting to her feet. “This—this—this—” She paced, if only to keep from shaking. 

His nerves were growing. Another side he had yet to learn was her anxious side. Whatever she scented, had escalated her fear. He knew that what she had experienced was tied to why she journeyed here, why she risked to be caught in Maeve’s web. The Galathynius mistrust of Maeve was shadowed by the threat that was killing these demi-Fae. 

He withheld a shudder at that thought. Maeve was powerful, and no one knew why or how magic had disappeared from her continent.  If what she was trying to learn from Maeve had that power, it would be only a matter of time before his own continent would fall victim. 

The foulness caused all his protective instincts to surface.  

“I’m wrong. I have to be wrong.” 

With his patience growing thin he growled, “Tell me.”

He followed her to the river, listening to a tale of a long forgotten dungeon hidden by a dark tapestry. The tunnel full of images from a long ago battle. The deeper she descended, the older the books and scrolls became. Until she hit an ancient stairwell, the images turned from the ancient battle to a forest with Fae. At the bottom there was only one door, the only other exit the tunnel she had traversed. The one door was made from solid iron and happened to be locked. 

A cold sweat slithered down his spine as she told him that while she was studying the door she noticed a shadow, darker than any she had seen through the thin slit along the door. When she slid a shiny dagger through the slit, that the green-gold orbs were reflected. Orbs she could have sworn were eyes. The dungeon itself lined with iron beneath the old castle’s library, one she found one night looking for a foul creature. 

She continued to whisper how weeks later after Nehemia’s death she returned to that iron door. How she had used Wyrdmarks to unlock the iron door. She told him of the dozens of cells, all locked until she reached door ninety-nine and beyond was an unmarked door, one that begged her to open it. The second chamber held sixty-six cells, the third chamber held thirty-three, the next hall held twenty-two cells. All locked. The sixth chamber only had nine cells. How in the seventh chamber it felt like death. In an abandoned cell there were fingernail marks in the iron and stone. The ninth chamber had a stairwell that ascended, she continued to walk through the odd stone, until she realized she was in the clock tower. She ran down the steps to the clock tower remembering the cold of the eight guardians and the Obsidian stone the gods forbade. 

He held back a snarl as she heard how the creature had tracked her. How the creature had human expressions, with black blood and animal eyes. In his mind her knew that it was either Fae or Witch. Not an ironteeth witch, no the Crohcans had taken after the Fae, that is what his father told him. He should have never called her a girl. Never treated her like a spoiled princess. 

Her story did not end there, she continued to tell him how Dorian, the Prince of Adarlan had welded the door and how she had used Wyrdmarks to bind the creature long enough to behead and quarter it. What shocked her the most was that the creature had a human heart. She told him that is how she knew that the King was using a Wyrdkey to create monsters. How she later figured out that the creature had to have had some magic, at least that appeared to have been the pattern. 

His heart sank a little. He was not certain if it was because Maeve withheld the knowledge or because in the end Aelin would learn that the there was little knowledge to be gained. Either way, Maeve way spinning her deadly web.

“How did it get here?” Rowan asked, his features now set with icy calm. 

“I don’t know. I hope I’m wrong. But that smell—I’ll never forget that smell as long as I live. Like it had rotted from the inside out, its very essence ruined. But it retained some cognitive abilities. And whatever this is, it must have them, too, if it’s dumping the bodies.”

She stood near the stream, when she broke the silence, “Demi-Fae … they would make perfect hosts, with so many of them able to use magic and no one in Wendlyn or Doranelle caring if they live or die. But these corpses—if he wanted to kidnap them, why kill them?” 

That was an easy question to answer, “Unless they weren’t compatible, and if they weren’t compatible, then what better use for them than to drain them dry?”

After all, the creature she spoke of was discarded.

“But what’s the point of leaving the bodies where we can find them? To drum up fear?” 

He could not answer her, instead he ground his jaw and stalked through the area. As he examined the ground, the trees, the rocks he could not help but think that the things the King was doing was far more vile than Sollemere. Before he could think too deeply he said, “Burn the body, Aelin.” 

He removed the sheath and belt that had housed the dagger and tossed them to her. She caught them with her free hand. 

“We’re going hunting.”

They found nothing, even when he shifted into his hawk form and circled high above. As the light grew dim, they climbed into the biggest, densest tree in the area. They squeezed onto a massive branch, huddling together, he would not let her summon even a flicker of flame. There were creatures in these woods that he knew would be attracted to her flame. The one he was just learning about, he had a feeling a fire would be a beacon to their location. 

He wanted to know everything about the creature in the library, he made her retell him in as much detail as possible. The library itself reminded him of a prison in another long forgotten Fae Kingdom. 

After she finished telling her everything she could remember, he took out one of his long knives and began cleaning it. The weapon did not need to be cleaned, but the motion opened his mind as he tried to recall all of his adventures and missions, to see if any small detail triggered a memory or tied this creature to another land. 

“Do you think I was mistaken? About the creature, I mean.”

He knew she was not mistaken, she had been trained to recall and respond to the smallest details.

“We’re dealing with a cunning, lethal predator, regardless of where it originated and how many there are. If you were mistaken, I’d consider it a blessing.” 

They sat huddled in a tree branch for a long while before she broke the silence, 

“You once told me that when you find your mate, you can’t stomach the idea of hurting them physically. Once you’re mated, you’d sooner harm yourself.” 

“Yes; why?” 

“I tried to kill him. I mauled his face, then held a dagger over his heart because I thought he was responsible for Nehemia’s death. I would have done it if someone hadn’t stopped me. If Chaol—if he’d truly been my mate, I wouldn’t have been able to do that, would I?” 

That truth. If he hadn't known better, he would have said that they were mates. That he understood looking for something that was not there, to be desperate for it. In their case something that could not be there. But the hope not to be alone in the world, to crave that bond was not hopeless. He hoped that someday she would have that joy. How even now he wanted that for himself. If he was honest with himself that he hoped he could have had that bond with her.

“You hadn’t been in your Fae form for ten years, so perhaps your instincts weren’t even able to take hold. Sometimes, mates can be together intimately before the actual bond snaps into place.”

He would not tell her how in the mornings before she woke, how he would pray to the gods to bestow upon him a second bond. One that he would not waste. He also battled every morning with the guilt of thinking such a thought. Lyrica deserves better, deserved more than him. The princess deserved the same. But hope, he hoped against his better judgement that the gods would throw him this lifeline. Especially with the evil that was stirring in their world. A period of solace before he was taken by the dark God. 

“It’s a useless hope to cling to, anyway.” 

“Do you want the truth?” She tucked her chin into her tunic and closed her eyes. “Not tonight.”

He loosened his breath from relief.  He was not certain he could have shared the truth with her. He had shown her his soul, but to share a dream was another matter. 


End file.
